


12 Days of Christmas

by anonniemoose



Series: SPN OneShots [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas fic, F/M, Hell Hounds, Lots of it, OOCness, Smut, anyway, domestic!crowley, from last year, i just wanted a sappy piece, i'm transfering all my fics over, it's taking SO long, most likely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 14:09:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4922599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonniemoose/pseuds/anonniemoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the twelfth day of Christmas, that bitch Fate gave to you, twelve reasons to not attend, eleven stitches stitched, ten minutes freezing, nine snowballs thrown, eight difficult cards, seven Doctor Who seasons watched, six different cultures, five parcels sent, four broken decorations, three hours shopping, two issues sorted and one argument over Christmas Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1 - Fighting - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: Established relationship with Crowley, possible OOCness, language, mild-lemoniness (kissing and language mostly, removal of clothes. That’s about it)
> 
> Word Count: 1, 088 words
> 
> Prompt: On the first day of Christmas, that bitch Fate gave to you, one argument over Christmas Day.

You really didn’t think that he’d object. Oh, who were you kidding, you knew it was going to be a battle to convince Crowley to attend Christmas with you. But you couldn’t attend to the family lunch alone. Again. 

Yes, for the last six years, even though you were in a long-term relationship with the King of Hell, your family had never met him and still believed you to be single after the disaster of your last relationship. And this year, you were determined to go with your boyfriend, whether he liked it or not. 

“But it is a Christian holiday!” He whined as you poured him his usual tumbler of Craig. 

“Think of the irony.” You had offered. “A demon, the King of Hell no less, celebrating a holiday designed to worship the arrival of our saviour.” The look you received as you passed him the glass was borderline lethal. “C’mon Crowley, it’s just one afternoon. We don’t even do the whole churchy crap, it’s really just a family day.” His face twists in disgust. 

“Even worse, pet.” You sigh as he sips his beloved amber drink. “You know I don’t do family.” 

“I bloody well hope not.” You mumble. “I’d prefer if you only did me.” You shove your hands in your pockets and sighed. “Crowley, sweetie, I know you hate family and Christmas and everything to do with politeness and being nice and children, but you can’t let me go alone.” You lean against the bench in your kitchen so you were resting your head in your hands, your boyfriend sitting opposite you. “They put bets on whether or not I bring a date and I’ve been talking about you for four years now. Isn’t it about time they actually met you?” 

“Screaming, snot-nosed children crying over poorly chosen presents, relatives interrogating everything about me and our relationship, horrid food and poor choices in drink? I think I’ll pass, luv.” He grabs one of your hands and rubs his calloused thumb in small circles in the back of it. “I love you, Y/N, but not enough to put up with that.” You stand and yank your hand from his. 

“In that case then, I’ll ask someone else.” You whip out your phone and start going through your contacts. “I haven’t given them your name, so I could ask Moose.” You try to hid your smile as his face darkens. “Or Giraffe. Or even Gabriel! He’d make a good fake-boyfriend. Hell, we could even prank the family for the entire afternoon. Archangels are very good at that, especially Gabe my Babe.” You bite the inside of you cheek as he starts to growl. “Of course, I’d have to pay them for putting up with my cousins and saving me from embarrassment once again. You’ve always said I look best on my knees, so I cou-” You squeal as you are lifted from your standing position away from Crowley and forced to lay down on the bench, Crowley now on top of you, throwing your phone away. You grumble as you hear it smash into bits but moan as soon as he presses his lips against yours in a harsh manner, forcing his tongue into your cavern and yanking your own muscle into the dance. 

“You are mine and if anyone is getting a reward for saving you from your bastardised family, it’ll be me.” You bite your lip as he pulls away to growl this at you, his hand harshly pulling your shirt apart, buttons flying everywhere. 

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t even need to get on my knees for Moose, it’ll just be a lot easier if I invite him.” You nudge his nose with gentle affection before continuing. “And that tallness, my God, that is something else. There is nothing like being saved but a tall, dark, handsome Winchester.” You nearly burst into laughter at the pissed look you get from Crowley as he latches himself onto your mouth again, his hands now going for the top button of your jeans. 

“I’ll show you tall, dark and handsome.” He mutters. “I’ll fuck you so hard that all you’ll know is my name and the feel of my co-”

“Moose’s would be a lot bigger.” You push him away, happy that he lets you get off the bench and move out of the kitchen and into the dining room. “I mean, it’s all to ratio, right? And you had to add an extra three inches, so-” You are spun around and pressed up against the wall, your pants now ripped from your body as his mouth and tongue invade yours once again. 

“He’ll never touch you.” He growls into your mouth as you squirm when you see the red of his irises. **“Never!”**

“I don’t know, Moose would be a better boyfriend and go to this lunch with me, put up with the screaming, snot-nosed children crying over poorly chosen presents, relatives interrogating everything about him and our relationship, horrid food and poor choices in drink. Maybe you’ve lost your touch.” 

“I’ll go then, just to prove you wrong.” 

“You’ll go?” 

“Damnit woman, is that not what I just said?!” 

“And to the dinner at Bobby’s?” 

“Fine!” 

“Promise?” 

“If it’ll keep you away from those damned Winchesters.” 

“Okay then!” You happily seal the deal with a heated kiss before lowering your legs, which had wrapped themselves around his waist. “Lunch is on the twenty-five, dinner is on the twenty-seventh and then we can go on our vacation on the thirtieth.” You shimmy out of the tight space he had created between you two. “Thank you darling!” 

A dangerous growl leaves his lips. _“Y/N!”_

“You agree to almost anything when you’re jealous and possessive.” You tease as you saunter off to the bedroom, unhooking your bra as you go, dropping it on the ground. “It’s almost too easy.” 

The growl grows in volume as he balls his fists up in anger. “I’m not impressed, Y/N. Nor am I amused.” 

“No, you are impressed, and you are a man of your word, so no going back now.” You grin as he marches up to you and lifts you up, your naked chest pressing against his clothed one. You tug at his tie. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll reward you now, hm?” You jump down and lead him to the bedroom by his tie. Yanking off his shirt and unbuckling your belt he chuckles against the heated kisses you share. 

“You’ve always looked your best when on your knees, poppet.” 


	2. Day 1 - Fighting - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: Established relationship with Crowley, possible OOCness, language, smut.
> 
> Word Count: 1, 737 words
> 
> Prompt: On the first day of Christmas, that bitch Fate gave to you, one argument over Christmas Day.

You fight off a groan at the use of your beloved nickname as you pull him in for a kiss once more, your hands heading south to remove his pants, cupping him firmly through his boxers as his pants fall to the ground. Two hands reach down for your thighs, lifting you up so you can lock your legs around Crowley’s waist, your hands moving to steady yourself by holding onto his shoulders, fingers automatically moving to trace the artwork painted on his body as he sits down at the edge of your bed, causing you to straddle him comfortably, your lips latching onto his neck to press open-mouthed kisses up towards his ear, where you nibble and tug down on his earlobe and kiss the sensitive patch of skin directly behind it. His mouth latches onto the column of your neck, biting down possessively, marking you so the world can see that you his as he trails his mouth down, latching on random spots to bite and suck until it was bruised, then moving on to the next spot until he was marking your clavicle, moving back to smirk at the collar of bruises he had produced.

“Knees?” You mutter into his ear, your teeth grazing his earlobe once more.

“Knees.” He agreed; his voice now a low and sexy growl. You smirk as you lower yourself slowly, making sure to slide the majority of your nearly-naked body against his. When your knees meet the scratchy carpet, you ignore the prickingly in order to trail your mouth slowly down Crowley’s front, teeth catching on the elastic of his crimson boxers. Biting down firmly, you start to pull down his final layer, smirking as his cock bounces free from its prison, already at full hardness.

Ignoring his growl to start, you blow gently at the base before pressing your lips where you just blew, tongue flickering out to just brush against the skin as you trail them up towards the head. His hand tangles though your hair as you take in the tip of his impressive length and start to suck in long, hard motions. You knew you could take your time, to enjoy the bitter taste of pre-come on your tongue as it leaks out, pressing your tongue against the slit so you can collect as much as possible. You knew your boyfriend wouldn’t push your head down in fear of hurting you, like he had done in the past.

Your left hand goes to hold his hip as you start to slide down to take as much as his shaft as possible, angling your head slightly so you could get at least a little of him down your throat as your right hand teases his leg as it makes its way up to stroke what you couldn’t fit in you. Two long, hard sucks later and you start to bob your head, eyes never leaving his face as it scrunches up in concentration, the only sounds he makes being moans and small whispers of _‘Y/N, Y/N, feels so good,’_ the rest drowned out by the sound of your mouth working him.

Your tongue goes to draw patterns against his skin, cradling the bottom of the head when his cock is almost out of your mouth before trailing it along the underside of his shaft as you force him back into your mouth and throat, your left hand squeezing his hip as a warning when it lurches forward slightly, causing your throat to contract and for him to moan.

His fingers tighten their grip in your hair as he pulls you up from his cock, still hard as it presses against your thighs as you return to straddling him. He kisses you deeply, his tongue going to trace the roof of your mouth, glide over your teeth before finally dancing with your own tongue. His fingers move to snap away your panties before slowly inserting two fingers into your hot core. He moans into your mouth when he feels how wet you’d become, curling his fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion, stroking your sweet spot. You feel the pool of lava that has grown low in your stomach heat up as you groan, grinding your hips against his two fingers, causing his cock to grind against your thigh.

He pinches your clit as he removes his fingers, causing you to whine at the emptiness. He sucks his two now-wet fingers deeply before removing them with a rather crude ‘pop’. You press your lips against his, chasing the taste of him and yourself mingled together as he lines himself up to your entrance. You relax and prepare yourself, your face moving into the crook of his neck. He kisses your shoulder softly as you nod your consent for him to start pushing in.

Even now, the feel of him pushing into you brings the most delightful stretch and feel of being full, no matter how much you prepare or have sex, it was always there. Of course, that also meant the possibility of it quickly becoming painful.

Crowley may be a demon, but even demons prefer their partners to be willing and satisfied.

After your hips are flushed against his, he waits for your nod to say you were ready. Your fingers trace his arms as he waits your permission. It doesn’t come.

Instead, you raise yourself until only the tip of him remains inside of you before slamming yourself down quickly, causing you both to groan in unison. You slowly start to moving against him, his mouth latching onto your breast and sucking hard with each thrust, his hand moving down to pinch and play with your clit as you hold onto his shoulders of balance. His hips thrust forward to meet you with each thrust, causing you to moan loudly as he hits one of your sweet spots, the attention to your clit becoming almost too much. You feel your body tense in anticipation, the heat in your lower belly spreading throughout your body as you bite your lip and toss your chest forward into his mouth.

As if sensing that your orgasm was close, he nips your breast harshly before turning you around so your back was pressed again the soft mattress of your bed, your legs grabbed and wrapped around his waist as he pounds into you mercilessly, your hands clawing and scratching their way down the length of his back, your once breathy moans becoming small gasps of pleasure.

“Do you think that Moose could do this to you?” He growls into your ear as his thrusts become more erratic, his pinching and rolling of your clit becoming more and more harsh and out of sync with the rhythm of his pounding. “Make you moan like a whore?” You groan and shake your head, biting down on your bottom lip, not trusting your voice to stay steady. “No human, demon or angel could ever make you feel the way I do, do you know why?” You clench around him, trying to lift your hips to meet him only to find his other hand holding you down by your waist. “Pet, answer me.” His voice is low, gravely and makes you feel even hotter, if possible.

“N-n-no!” You manage to stutter out, moaning loudly as he hits the right spot over and over again. “Oh God, please!”

“No God here, just me.” Comes his reply, moving your legs from his waist to his shoulders, trying to thrust deeper and deeper into your wet heat. “No one can make you feel the way I do because I know everything about you.” You nod, wanting desperately to fall off that edge, that edge that is so, so, so close. “No one knows every little spot that makes you squirm,” as if to prove his point, he presses his lips down firmly at the base of your throat before biting harshly down the valley of your breasts, causing you to whine in frustration, “no one knows how to tease, how to mark you the way I do.” You nod in confirmation. “You belong to me. _I_ am you lover, your protector, your **King**!” The last word is meet with a particularly hard thrust and pinch. “Who do you belong to, luv?”

“You!” Comes your pathetic whine.

“I can’t hear you.”

“You, you bastard! I belong to you! Please, please, please!” You cry out.

“Cum.”

That one command is all you need to send you flying over the edge. Your vision whites out as your back leaves the bed, arching into Crowley. He groans as you tighten around him, clamping down firmly, causing him to follow you with a shout and a bite to your shoulder.

Blinking until your vision returns from its blurred state, you groan as he removes his cock from you, moving to lay next to you and bringing you into his chest, holding you close. You press your thighs together and sigh happily, content to lay there for a minute before making your way to the shower.

“You’re a possessive bastard, aren’t you?” You tease, poking him in the chest. “Seriously, what was all that about? The biting, the talking.” You nudge his nose with yours. “You know I’ll never leave you right?”

He grunts in return before kissing you softly. “I know, poppet, I know.” He sighs. “It’s an irrational fear, Y/N, but I-”

“Zip it.” You warn, pressing your finger against his lips. He smirks as he bites it gently, sucking on the tip lightly. “Crowley, you are an amazing man and I love you, but thinking that I’d leave you for Sam, of all people, is the most stupidest thing you could ever think!” You move his hand to your hip as he automatically starts to rub it. “I’m here to stay, you big oaf. And don’t you forget it! You’re my King as much as I’m your Queen.” He laughs at that.

“I know luv, I know.”


	3. Day 2 - Confirming Time And Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: Established relationship with Crowley, possible OOCness, language, mild smuttiness (removal of clothes, some groping and sexual touching), implied sex
> 
> Word Count: 1, 444 words
> 
> Prompt: On the second day of Christmas, that bitch Fate gave to you, two issues sorted and one argument over Christmas Day.

You hum quietly as your mother starts to rattle on about her latest now-ex-husband. Number Six, Lawrence, was a reasonably nice guy, very sweet, caring, a lecturer at the local university, but dead boring. Like, really boring. Slowly, you stir the sauce in the pot, letting your mother’s words wash over you. 

“So, Y/N, you coming on Christmas for lunch?” She finally asks, the whole reason why you called finally brought up after a two hour conversation. Don’t get me wrong, you love your mother, but you weren’t one for lengthy conversations about the family gossip about who did who and why your grandmother wasn’t talking to her eighth child. All you wanted to do was tell her you and Crowley were coming and then get back to cooking your dinner. 

“Yeah Mum. Me and my boyfriend are going to be there.” You say with a small smile, remembering how pissed your boyfriend was after the little trick you pulled on him last night. 

“Oh, this mysterious boyfriend of yours, eh?” You sigh as your mother’s voice goes giggly. “The one that couldn’t make the past four years?” You swallow as you move to drain your pasta. 

“Yeah Ma, his work finally let him have Christmas off, and his family isn’t doing anything this year so he thought what the heck.” You drop the pot into your sink, moving to put the now dry pasta into your sauce, mixing it through. “Might as well meet the family.” 

“So, what’s his name?” You tighten your lips. Should you tell her? 

“Fergus.” You finally decide on. “Fergus McLeod.” 

“Oooh, Scottish?” 

“British-Scottish.” You correct, moving your dinner to your plate, mentally making note of what you needed to tell Crowley what you told your mother. “His mother was Scottish, father was British.” You pick up your plate and start walking to your desk in your room, where your latest article required proofreading. 

“Was?” 

“Adopted when he was fourteen.” You curse at yourself and at your over-protective mother who loves to make note of every little thing. She hums contently over the phone before continuing firing questions at you. 

“Where does he-” You jump when you feel a pair of lips ghost the column of your neck, dropping the plate onto the tiled area below your feet. You spin around to see a slightly amused Crowley. “-work? Sweetheart?” Your mother finishes her question, non-the-wiser of the broken crockery at your feet and the look your boyfriend was currently getting from you. “You there, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah Mum.” You ground out, trying to keep your mood light. “An insurance firm for, like, insanely rich people.” 

“So, he answers phones all day?” She asks as you point down to the broken plate and raised an eyebrow, your message clear. 

_Fix it or I’ll fix you._

“No, more like he runs the place and makes sure everything runs somewhat smoothly.” You correct as he snaps his fingers, and the plate is repaired, the pasta binned and the red stains removed. “It’s like his baby really. Always working.” 

“Well, I am sure we’ll all like him.” You push past him with an affirming grunt, repaired plate in hand. 

“Yeah, he’s a very nice guy Mum. You’ll love him.” You place your beloved plate back on the bench. Opening your fridge, you bend down and start to collect ingredients for a sandwich, your hopes of your Nona’s tomato pasta for dinner ripped from you. “In fact, you’ll-” Your breathing hitches as you feel your boyfriend grind into your rear, hands gently caressing your hips. 

“Y/N? Y/N, are you okay?” Your mother’s worried tone carries over the phone as he moves his hands to gently palm and grope your arse. 

“Yeah Mum, I’m-” You bite back a moan as he starts to trail a finger up and down the cleft of your lips, pushing slightly against the fabric of your panties. “I’m okay, just dropped a glass.” You stand and push him away, trying to get some space between you. 

_‘Bugger off, I’m busy.’_ You mouth. You never were one for public sex, much less with your mother on the other end of the phone. 

“Anyway, where’s the lunch going to be at this year?” You ask, shutting the fridge with the back of your foot, his hands trailing up your thighs, barely touching you, to yank gently at your oversized shirt that hangs just above mid-thigh. 

“Well, you see-” You mute the microphone on your cell so you can talk to Crowley freely while your mother a list of relatives and why you couldn’t possibly have the lunch there. 

“What the hell do you think your doing?” You hiss. 

“Who are you talking to luv?” He raises a hand to cup your face, brushing against you cheek softly. 

“My mother.” You look at him with an expected look. “So behave!” You turn to open the fridge once more only for him to brush up against you, hands back on your hips and slowly trailing up your sides, lifting the non-descript shirt as he went. “Are you always horny?” You sigh as you grab his hands and shove them down, phone cradled between your ear and shoulder. 

“I’m a demon, luv. That’s what demons do.” 

“What, shag twenty-four-seven?” You stomp on his toe, not expecting him to react. “Bugger off, I’m not in the mood.” He slowly lowers himself to kiss you gently, the pressure comforting and perfect, tasting of Craig and something else you’ve never been able to describe. You moan as he starts to flick his tongue against his lips, not giving him the access past them. 

“Y/N? Y/N, honey, are you busy at the moment because I can call back.” Your mother’s voice brings you to the present and you yank yourself away from a giggling Crowley. Rolling your eye, you unmute the phone’s microphone. 

“Sorry Mum, I had to put you down for a moment. What did you say again?” Your mother huffs as you give up on making dinner and move to the lounge room, Crowley shortly behind, following you like a lost puppy. 

“I said that we finally agreed to have it at your Aunt Chris and Uncle Gareth’s.” She repeats.

“So, like we always do.” You tease in return; throwing your legs over Crowley’s when he sits. “Usual time?” 

“Yes.” You smile. 

“Do we need to bring anything?” 

“Well, Julie is bringing-” You groan quietly as Crowley starts to knead at your feet, muting the microphone once more. 

“She won’t shut up.” You mutter, leaning back further into the couch as the kneading continues. “All I want is a simple yes or no answer.” He laughs. 

“-Alex is bringing his girlfriend, Layla. You love Layla, don’t you? Always talking about books and Tumblr and Doctor Wh-” You put down the phone, resting it against your chest as she starts prattling on about your favourite cousin’s new girlfriend. 

“You know there is on particular kink we haven’t explored yet.” He grins mischievously, fingers gracing along the edge of your plain, white cotton panties, eyes glinting. You shake your head. 

“No. Absolutely not!” You hiss. “Not with my mother on the other line.” 

“C’mon pet, you only live once. Oh.” He giggles at his own bad joke and you cock your head to the side. 

“How much have you had to drink?” You question, eyebrow raised in amusement as his fingers move up to brush against your stomach, tickling you lightly. “You’re very…..gentle tonight.” He shrugs as he moves to lean over you, his arms caging you to the lounge, his knee pressed against your core. 

“Enough.” You roll your eyes as he presses his lips against yours in a chaste kiss. You move the phone back to your ear, your mother still prattling on about your cousin’s love for his girlfriend and how he should make an honest woman out of her. “It’s not like she’ll hear.” You tightened your lips, tempted by his offer. It’d been too long since his talented mouth ate you out. 

“If I say ‘Moose’, I want you off and away until I finish the call.” You warn, he nods in agreement before grabbing your legs, pulling you closer towards him and pushing your legs apart and your knees to your shoulders. Ripping your panties off of you, your lean in to kiss him once more. 

“I love you, Crowley.” You whisper, a shiver running down your body in anticipation of what was to come, your mother still chatting away on the phone. When your stomach grumbles You both giggle when your stomach grumbles. 

“I love you poppet too.” 

“At least one of us is getting fed.” 


	4. Day 3 - Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: Established relationship with Crowley, possible OOCness, Crowley being a bit of a dick in a shopping centre (that should be a warning, right?), slightly grumpy Crowley, slightly childish Crowley, no smuttiness, fluffy goodness.
> 
> Word Count: 1, 131 words
> 
> Prompt: On the third day of Christmas, that bitch Fate gave to you, three reasons to hate shopping, two issues sorted and one argument over Christmas Day.

Pushing your cart around the crowed store, you try to hide your smirk at the obvious discomfort of your boyfriend. 

“You didn’t need to come.” You remind him gently. “You can leave anytime you want.” His response is to shove his hands into his pocket moodily and dodging the running children who narrowly miss running into the already grumpy King of Hell. “You look so much like the grumpy cat meme.” You tease as you stop at the book section. “It’s adorable.” 

“I’m the King of Hell, luv.” He reminds you. “Sexy, yes, hot, yes, adorable?” 

“Yes.” You finish, poking your tongue out at him childishly. “If you’re going to be a grumble-bum you can leave and meet me back at the house. I only have twelve others to shop for, then I’ll be done.” 

“Twelve?!” The look on his face is almost comical, if it wasn’t for the book in your hand starting to smoulder. 

“Crowley!” You drop the book and step back, waiting for it to burst into flames. You turn, hands on your hips. “Calm the fuck down! You’ve been in a mood all morning.” You grab his wrists and pull his hands from their pockets and forcing him to hold your hands. “What’s going on?” 

“I bloody hate shopping.” You try not to smile. 

“I did offer for you to stay at home. Multiple times, in fact.” 

“But if I did stay home I wouldn’t get laid, now would I?” You scoff. 

“The way you’re going, I’ll ward the apartment against you and it won’t come down until well into the New Year.” You warn. “And if you even think if trying to snatch me from my work, I’ll sic the boys onto you.” You bite the insides of your mouth in an attempt to hide the smile from the scowl he sends your way. 

“It was one time!” 

“You made me disappear in front of the Board of Directors, right after you appeared in front of them!” You smack his arm lightly. “I hate to tell them it was a new hologram program I was trying out and couldn’t physically be there because my mother was in hospital!” 

“They believed that?” Crowley’s lips turn up into a small smile as you tell him the crappy lie you had to tell the BoD. 

“Between the fourteen of them, you’d be lucky to find a single brain cell.” You sigh. “It’s amazing that the hospital is even up and running still the way they act.” You take back the now repaired book and shoving it back on the shelf. 

“You could always find another job.” He offered as you start to move away. 

“Yeah, would you give up your job as the king?” 

“No, I worked for that!” He growls at you as if the very suggestion was the most ridiculous thing that has ever left your mouth. 

“And I worked for my position. I’m not giving that up.” You turn with a small smile. “Even if that means working for wankers.” Sighing, you turn back around and start pushing the cart again. “If you’re going to be a little bitch, you can go home.” 

Slowly, you go down the next isle, rolling your eyes when you see your boyfriend there, reading the back of _Fifty Shades of Grey_. “What about this for your mother, dove?” You scoff. 

“Yes, I’m going to buy my mother porn.” You snark, putting the book back on the shelf. “I must say though, hearing Gabriel’s audiobook was the best thing I’ve ever heard.” You pretend to shudder. “What do you want, Anastasia?” You mimic his voice badly, but it is enough to piss off the Brit in front of you. “Oh, love, you are so easily angered.” You tease, looking back at the books before they disappear from sight. Sighing at the empty bookshelves, you look back at him, eyebrow raised. 

“Have you been cheating on me, Y/N?” He growls. “With that winged rat?!” You roll your eyes. 

“Oh honey, it is amazing that our relationship has lasted this long and you can’t tell the difference between sarcasm and honesty.” You walk towards him. “Why would I want a winged rat when I already have the best this world can offer?” Stroking his ego, yes, that would work and maybe you could get this nightmare of a shopping trip over with quicker. “I am sure he is not as talented as you are when it comes to making me happy,” you peck his cheek quickly, “keeping me on my toes,” a peck closer towards his lips, “and satisfied in every single way,” your lips hover over his, “amongst other things.” You pull him in for a quick kiss, your lips just pressing against his slightly. “Seriously, four years and you think that I’d run off with a man-child with wings? I may like Gabe, but only as the brother I’ve never had.” 

“Sorry luv.” His voice is gruff and his cheeks reddened slightly as he tries to fight his embarrassment. 

“You should be. Cheating on you would be the stupidest thing I could do, especially because you are perfect in every single way Crowlers.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Don’t call me dove.” You retort, smiling as the books return to their respective places on the shelves. “I hate it when you call me that.” His hands meet your hips as he hugs you from behind. 

“And for the record, Y/N/N,” he growls quietly in your ear, “if you ever even think about betraying me, in any way, with that would-be trickster, it would be the last thing he ever did.” 

“Oh, I love it when you get all protective.” You tease. “Makes me tingle in my naughty bits.” 

“That’s what I’m here for.” He responds followed by a lingering kiss to your cheek as you pick up the book you want. 

“I’m halfway done.” You turn to hug him back, present now put into the trolley next to you. “If you behave, when you get home you might get a reward.” 

“Mm, what kind of reward?” His eyes now glazed over. 

“A cookie.” You nearly burst into laughter at the dark look he sends your way. 

“I will need much more than that.” You roll your eyes. 

“How about I won’t gank your arse when we get home?” You sigh as he refuses to let you past. “Fine, I’ll let you have the key to the toy box. Now help me find something for Louise and Andrew, they have just had a new baby and I’m stuck on what to buy them.” 

Needless to say, the rest of the afternoon was spent with a quietly happy and scheming boyfriend, which made you extremely happy and worried, even if his present suggestions weren’t exactly family friendly. 


	5. Day 4 - Decorating, Singing, Movies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: Established relationship with Crowley, possible OOCness, hellhounds, cute fluffiness, no smuttiness, but don’t worry, it’ll come.
> 
> Word Count: 1, 956 words
> 
> Prompt: On the fourth day of Christmas, that bitch Fate gave to you, four broken decorations, three reasons to hate shopping, two issues sorted and one argument over Christmas Day.

“Do me a favour and promise me no gifts this year.” 

“I thought you loved my presents?” Crowley asks as you move the tree into your living room, him walking behind you with a large box of decorations. 

“The way you’ve been acting the past few weeks, I’m scared that you’ll get me a leash and collar with a tag saying _‘Y/N, property of Crowley, King of Hell. If found, please return to Hell by summoning your local crossroads demon and-slash-or King of Hell Representative or phone 666.’_ And I still haven’t forgiven you for the Present Incident of twenty-ten.” You glare over to him. “No presents.” 

“Fine poppet, no presents.” You swear you hear a quiet ‘spoilsport’, but you don’t comment on it. Instead, you switch on the telly to find your all-time favourite Christmas movie playing, ‘Elf’. “And for the record, I am the King of Hell, darling, not your local representative.” You smile as you hear the demon put down the large box of decorations. “You know, luv, I could have just decorated the place with a snap of my fingers, quite literally Y/N.” He states as he goes to sit down on your couch, a glass of Craig now in his hand. You tip the contents of the large cardboard box labelled **‘Christmas Shit, DO NOT BUY MORE’** written largely in cursive on the side. 

“Well, I like to do things the human way. More fun that way.” You start to sort through the decorations at your feet, creating neat piles of tinsel, baubles and other decorations. “Star or angel?” 

“Pardon?” Crowley turns to look at you as you hold up the top different pieces. 

“Star or angel, for the top of the tree?” He glares at you and you instantly know the answer. “Star it is.” You put the angel away for yet another year. “Your very grouchy at the moment.” 

“It’s the Christmas season.” He groans as he leans back, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt and rolling his sleeves up even further. “It makes me sick, the whole ‘family’ business and spreading love and joy and cheer. I don’t understand why you spend a day in the company of your pathetic family who you don’t see any other time of the year. If you ask me, we’ve got all the company we need right here.” 

“Do you know who you remind me of?” You smile, suddenly drawing a connection between your beloved boyfriend and another old favourite Christmas movie character. 

“Who?” 

“The Grinch.” 

There is a beat. 

“The…..Grinch?” 

“The Grinch! Ya know, two-thousand movie with Jim Carey?” You are met with a blank look. “A big, green, furry guy attempts to take Christmas and succeeds but gives it back because he begins to feel emotions?” Another beat of silence. 

“The Grinch?” You stop sorting the ornaments and march over to the television, switching it to the DVD player. 

“I should have a copy.” You mumble as you kneel on the ground, looking through your DVD collection. “This relationship cannot go on until you’ve seen and understand the epicness of this movie.” 

One hour and forty-five minutes later, the tree is decorated and ready for presents to be placed under it and you are in the kitchen, making vanilla ice-cream for the hot chocolate you were planning to make that night. 

“I am in no way like that fury green creature!” You stop stirring the heated mixture to burst into laughter at his sudden outrage. 

“Oh, sweetie, you so are.” You turn to bop his noise before kissing him gently. “Were you crying?” You wipe away the tear tracks. “Oh Crowlers, it’s okay. The Who’s got their Christmas.” 

“Shut up.” You poke your tongue out at him. 

“I can just imagine you saying ‘help me, I’m feeling!’” You laugh at his pout. “God bless Jim Carrey.” You slowly worm yourself into his crossed arms so you are in a loose hold. “C’mon Crowley, where’s your Christmas spirit?” 

“Demons don’t have Christmas spirit.” You shrug, turning away to mix the vanilla bean mixture again. 

“Fine, whatever you say dear.” You wave hand vaguely to where your handbag is. “Be the amazing boyfriend you are and go get me some dinner, would ya? Just a pizza will do.” With a grumble, he leaves with a click of his fingers, leaving your purse and money where it was. 

It was thirty minutes until he came back and you had left the ice-cream churning in the machine and Christmas carols were now ringing throughout the house, your voice singing along with them. 

_Rockin’ around, the Christmas tree, have a happy holiday!_

You sway around the table with a glass of wine in your hand, happy that everything that needed to be done was done. The smell of fresh pizza makes you turn around and smile. “Thank you sweetie!” You kiss his scowling face gently as you take the pizza away from him. “Okay, what’s wrong now?” 

“What are you listening to?” You roll your eyes and grab the remote from your pocket, switching of the stereo with a frown. 

“Better?” 

“Marginally.” You take his hand and lead him to the table so you can eat and try and find out the source of his cranky behaviour. As he sits, he pulls out his phone and starts to type. 

“Okay, what’s going on? And you can’t tell me it’s Christmas, because your behaviour is getting worse.” You open the box to smell heaven. “Did you go to Italy and get this for me?” He nods, still typing away. “You’re a gem, you know that? My little diamond in the rough.” He nods again. “Crowley I’m pregnant.” Again, a nod. “I have no idea who the father is.” Nod. “I mean, after that orgy with the archangels and Cas and Balt, it could be anyone of them.” Nod. “Or Moose’s, we did have that weekend getaway.” Another nod. “While we are on the subject of sex, you’ve always wanted to know my first?” Again, nod. “Well, it was Gabe and Bath, at the same time.” You sigh as he nods again. “Put that goddamned phone away Crowley, I want to talk to you.” You are met with silence. Rolling your eyes, you slowly chew your pizza. “Are you pregnant, Crowley?” That caught his attention. 

“No!” He shouts, putting his phone away. “Bloody hell woman, what do you think demon’s can do?!” 

“Well, I know for a fact they can change the size and shape of their dick.” You drawl. “And that they can make it vibrate. And make cum taste like chocolate. It wouldn’t surprise me if you have a secret womb hidden in that tubby body of yours.” He blinks and you sigh. “Sorry.” He blinks again. “So, me being pregnant doesn’t get a reaction, but male pregnancy does?” 

“I was just thinking.” 

“About what?” 

“Christmas.” You raise an eyebrow. 

“What about it?” 

“I want to show you something.” A click of his fingers and a box appears in front of you. Opening is, the ribbon falling away, you see six collars, each a different colour with a matching leash. “So, I was right? It’s not enough that you growl at every male that looks my way, no matter their age, we have to collar me too? In all the fashion colours she could want.” 

“It was one time!” 

“It was a five-year-old child who wanted to thank me for taking care of him in hospital!” 

“And they aren’t for you.” He says pointedly, sliding over your glasses, which look like they’ve narrowly survived a house fire. You slowly put them on as he whistles. 

Of course, you’d seen Juliet before. Being in a relationship with the King of Hell, former King of the Crossroads, former Hellhound Breeder and Trainer, for four years meant that you had met and fallen in love with the large hound. Of course, she was his first hound he trained from infancy, so their bound was something that you envied. But what you hadn’t expected was to see six pups running around her exhausted body. 

“Well, you know when we said no Christmas presents?” 

“Seeings that it was this afternoon, I would be pretty depressed if I couldn’t.” You are trying piece together what he was saying. He couldn’t possibly mean…

“I’ve been spending all afternoon trying to figure out where to put them.” 

“Them?” 

“You said you didn’t want a present, so I assumed-”

“My present is a hellhound puppy?” You whisper, looking back at him, his face surprisingly sheepish. 

“You said you wanted a dog-”

“-but my landlord won’t let me have pets-”

“-that he can see.” You smile as one of the pups come up to nuzzle its small head into your lap. “If you don’t want them-”

You hold up a hand. “Crowley, love, this is remarkably sweet of you.” 

“Sweet? You think I’m sweet?” The anger is playful in tone, but you know not to tread too far in case it becomes real. 

“He is too.” You indicate to the hound you are currently scratching behind the ear. 

“He is a hellhound! He isn’t supposed to be sweet!” You try your best not to laugh as he mutters a quick ‘stupid woman’, knowing that he still struggles with your acceptance of the strangely beautiful but evil looking beasts. 

“He is adorable, they all are. Thank you Crowley.” You smile up at him as the hound now climbs into your lap. “So, what’s the deal here? Am I just taking care of them? Training them? Naming them?” 

“Luv?” He interrupts. 

“Yes?” 

“You know how we said no Christmas presents?” He repeats and finally it clicks. 

“Oh God, really?” 

“Only if you want-” You pull him over to kiss him over the whining puppy. 

“Crowley, they are all beautiful. Which one?” You look at all of them before noticing his little smirk. “No, no, no, no!” 

“I thought you’d like all six.” You squeal with excitement, scaring the pup off your lap. 

“Oh my God, I could start breeding the little buggers!” You jump up and down happily in your seat, Juliet cocking her head in what looks like amusement. “So moody because?” 

“Stressed about getting them here in one piece without any of the breeders noticing and then you said you didn’t want them.” He explains, patting Juliet’s head affectionately. 

“But you’re the King! Surely you can just take them and tell them not to ask questions.”

“Yes, but even the King needs to be careful when giving his human a hellhound for a present, let alone six.”

You smile before apologising for causing him such trouble. “All Juliet’s and Growley’s litter?” 

“Of course. I would only get you the very best.” You grab each collar and give them to Crowley. 

“That settles the names of that one then.” You pick up the hound that was on your lap only seconds ago. “Romeo.” Crowley rolls his eyes as he rubs a finger over the metal circle, engraving his name into it. 

“Really Y/N?” 

“Well, every Juliet needs her Romeo.” You tease. “Just like here Y/N needs her own Crowley to play with.” 

The night was spent naming the other five pups (Capulet, Lady, Montague and Olivia) with the last one Crowley affectionately calling it Grinch. And if the landlord ever came up questioning about the howling or why six leashes hang from your coatrack, he was quickly out of your way due to your lamp being toppled over and smashing onto the ground by nothing but a small yelp of a puppy in pain. 

And you quickly learnt that hellhounds have a strange addiction for homemade vanilla ice-cream.


	6. Day 5 - Parcels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: Established relationship with Crowley, possible OOCness, fluff, a little bit of relations of a sexual sort, would have written more but I love it when pets interfere with da kinky times, so frustrating, ACTUAL SMUT COMING, eventually.
> 
> Word Count: 2, 232 words (I’m sorry, I got carried away!)
> 
> Prompt: On the fifth day of Christmas, that bitch Fate gave to you, five parcels sent, four broken decorations, three hours shopping, two issues sorted and one argument over Christmas Day.
> 
> Notes: The tune that is sung is from StarKid Musical’s ‘Me and My Dick’ ‘There Ain’t Nothing Like A Dick’. If you haven’t seen it, I strongly, strongly, strongly recommend that you stop what you are doing, go to YouTube and look them up (then of course, come back to read this). It is INSANELY good.

The boxes left at your doorstep reminds you of the one important thing you’ve forgotten to do. 

“Shit.” You swear, opening the door slightly and letting Lady, Grinch and Romeo rush into the house, knocking over yet another piece of furniture and ripping it slightly. Rolling your eyes, you pick up one of the many boxes and stack them just inside of the door, brushing back Olivia as she sniffs the bottom one curiously. “Not now Olivia.” You mutter, sliding yourself into your house and shutting the door firmly behind you. Your glasses leave your face as you rub your eyes, the bumps from the inside of the glasses beginning to ache. ‘Time for new glasses.’ You think as you grab the top box and move to grab a pair of scissors, slicing the tape on the top. Smiling at the bad drawing at the top, you sit down on the chair next to you, opening the homemade card to read the poorly written message. Your hand goes down to scratch behind Olivia’s ear as she puts her head on your lap as your eyes go to look in the box to see a small collection of books in French, Japanese and Italian. Grinning, you turn the first book over to read the blurb before rolling your eyes at the crash and two, high-pitched yelps. 

“You might want to be careful, luv.” You smile at the drawled sentence, letting the British demon kiss your forehead. “The way their going you won’t have an apartment to return to.” You push Olivia’s head off your lap as you go to stand to at least get a hug from your boyfriend. 

“That was your plan all the long, wasn’t it?” You tease. “Destroying my home so I’d be forced to move in with you.” 

“Damn, you caught me.” He jokes, pulling you in closer. “Now, what are you going to do to me?” 

Before the flirting can continue, a large body of nothing slams into the both of you, sending you sprawling onto the ground, him kneeling on top of you. 

“Been a long time since we were in this position.” You joke. 

“It’s too boring this way.” He retorts. “I like it when you’re on top.” You roll your eyes once again as you look for the pup that slammed into you. “It was Capulet, luv.” He informs you as you both stand up. You sigh as you see your blanket being dragged along the ground, tears appearing in the corner. 

“I am seriously beginning to regret agreeing to taking all six of them.” You sigh as you wrestle the blanket from Montague’s mouth. He whines before rushing off to play with one of his sisters. You sigh as you look at your favourite blanket. “Well then, that can go in their bed.” You gather it up and move towards your bedroom. “How’s hell?” 

“How do you think?” Crowley calls from the kitchen, no doubt exploring for your alcohol again. “Hell’s hell.” 

“A hell’s a hell’s a hell’s a hell’s a hell, it’s true. But you’re never gonna find a hell for you.” You sing playfully, folding your blanket into the crate the pups sleep in, the torn bits hanging out the corner. “Can you do me a favour and move those boxes by the door somewhere were the pups can’t get to them?” You shout over your shoulder only to hear a loud crash seconds later. You rush out the door to see Crowley scolding the pups; at least, you hope it was; otherwise he had finally gone off his rocker and was talking to thin air. You really needed to find a more covenant way to see the hounds, because even though you loved them all, you really would like to know where they were at all hours of the day and not having to fumble around for your glasses in the middle of the night would be an extra bonus. 

“I never thought I’d say this after seeing your tats, but damn, you have never looked hotter.” You say, your lips turning up in a small, seductive smile. “I think I have decided that, yes, I would like to do the whole naughty school girl kink.” He smirks, clicking his fingers to repair whatever broke in the fallen boxes that whichever pup had bumped into. You sigh as you look at them. 

“What’s on your mind, luv?” Crowley asks as he grabs your hand, kissing the top of it fondly. 

“I forgot about my friend’s overseas.” You mutter. “I will need to go shopping again, and you’re not invited.” You raise a finger at him as he smirks against your hand, turning it as he peppers it with small, chaste pecks before leaving a lingering kiss on the pressure point of your wrist. “If I send them anything now, they won’t get it till after Christmas, and there is really-. Crowley, for God’s sake, stop distracting me.” You grumble as he starts to bite, suck and kiss his way up your arm. “I said naughty school girl kink, I didn’t mean now.” 

“Stressed?” 

“Very.” There is a few minutes of shared silence before yet another crash can be heard. “I need to move into a bigger house with a fucking yard.” You grumble as you go to see what was broken. 

“That’s why you have me.” Crowley interjects, following you closely, not letting go of your hand. “To fix what is broken.” 

“And to pay for my penthouse apartment.” 

“And your school fees.” 

“Damn, you are making this sound like I’m a naughty school girl. Mr. McLeod?” Your voice goes into falsetto during the last sentence. “I am so terribly sorry, I have been so distracted in your class and I do so ever need to pass it. I know you are paying my school fees, and I am so ever grateful for it. What could I possibly do to thank you and to gain extra credit points in your biology lessons?” You are slammed up the closet wall, Crowley pressed right up against you. You moan loudly as you feel is harden length against your thigh. 

“I can tell you what you can do Miss. Y/N.” He whispers hotly into your ear. “But first you need to tell me what distracts you in my lessons.” 

“Yes, Mr. McLeod, of course, sir. You see sir,” you bite your bottom lip playfully, “it’s Mr. Winchester’s fault sir. You know, Dean Winchester, the mechanics teacher? He just makes me so hot and bothered, sir and I have to pass his classroom to get to yours-” Crowley’s lips slam onto yours, his leg moving up in-between your two spread ones, pressing firmly on your core. Instinctively, you rock yourself against it before his hands slam on your hips, keeping you in place against the wall. 

“You’re being awfully naughty, Miss. Y/N.” Crowley whispers against your lips, his hips moving to grind his length against your hip, his thigh grinding against your dampening panties providing you with the beautiful friction you desired. “Telling me such lies.” 

“But, Mr. McLeod!” You batter your eyes. “It’s the truth. I was telling Mr. Castiel last night when I working for extra credit for his class in my bedroom that-” You didn’t get to finish your sentence yet again as your mouth was soon too busy dancing with your boyfriend’s. 

“Miss. Y/N, do I need to remind you who you belong to?” 

“Well, I’d say no.” You wiggle against him as he starts to palm at your rear. “I was thinking of getting a tattoo though, to remind me every day to whom I belong to.” 

“Indeed.” He whispers into your ear, his tongue trailing against the shell before his teeth bite and tug at the lobe. “And what would be your tattoo?” 

“A moose.” He pulls back with a disappointed look on his face. 

“Miss. Y/N, you have been telling me nothing but lies since the moment I walked into this room.” 

“I wouldn’t say lies, Mr. McLeod. Just….a manipulated truth?” 

“Do you know what happens to naughty girls who lie, Miss. Y/N?” 

“They get given a cookie and are sent on their way?” 

“They get spanked.” Your eyes widen as he captures your lips, picking you up and carrying you to your bed as your legs wrap around his waist. You move to kneel at his feet as he starts to undo his belt. You feel heat pooling deep inside of you as he-

“That damned mutt!” You burst into laughter as you hear another thud and a smash. Crowley storms out of the room, mood effectually ruined as another pup moves to start attacking your face with its tongue. “Never going to get bloody laid with them around!” He shouts from the hallway as he storms into whatever room the smash came from. _“My Craig!”_

You can’t stop your hysterical laugher as he tells off Grinch. You move to sit on your bed, your arousal slowly fading away into nothing as you play with whichever one is at your feet. When he storms back into your bedroom, he roughly brushes off the pup with a short ‘bloody dogs’ as he lays himself down on your bed, pulling you down with him. 

“So…mood’s ruined.” You stifle another laugh into the crook of his arm as you make this observation. He grunts in agreement, his eyes closed. “Your fault, really. I mean, you got me the dogs.” 

“I’ll take them back if it means I get laid.” 

“If you so much as push one outside my door, I’ll make sure you’ll never get laid again.” You warn as you move to sit up, but his hand grabs the back of your shirt and pulls you back down, wrapping his arm around you. 

“Don’t go.” You chuckle. 

“Love, I need to get to the shops.” You remind. “I should get going so I can get it sent by the end of this afternoon.” 

“Then do I get some?” You look at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“If you can figure out how to get five presents to Asia and Australia in time for Christmas?” You lift his arm up and slide off the bed, heading out. “Then sure! All night long if you want! But, until then,” you slide on some shoes and grab your purse by the front door, “I have jobs to do. And no matter what you do, you won’t distract me.” He sighs as he closes the gap between you, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you towards him, pressing your lips against his in a quick kiss. 

“I’ll think of something.” He promises before letting your rush out the door. 

“Don’t let them break anything!” You shout over your shoulder, slamming the door behind you. 

Crowley sighs as he runs his hand through his hair as he attempts to think of a solution for your problem. The loud thud and smash brings him out of his thoughts. 

“Bollocks.” 

**()()()()()**

Closing the door behind you with the back of your foot, you drop your keys in the bowl on the table by your door and moving to put your bags on your dining table. The house is strangely quiet, something it hasn’t been since the pups had arrived. 

“Hello darling.” You hear the familiar voice of your boyfriend from the hallway. You wander out to see him putting a basket of dry, folded and ironed washing by your bedroom door. 

“Have I domesticated the great King of Hell?” He sticks his tongue out at you childishly in response. “Damn I’m good.” You smile over to him. “Where are the hounds?” 

“With Juliet, learning how to hunt.” You cock your head. 

“They’re not going to be expected to hunt, are they?” 

“How else will they be expected to protect you?” You look at him, unamused. 

“Ah. Now I understand why you gave me six, you overprotective bastard you.” You turn to move back to the bags, sorting them into five piles, one for each person. “Found an issue to my problem?” You call out. “Besides sex.” You add as an afterthought as two arms wrap themselves around your waist and lips ghost across your collarbone. 

“I did have an idea.” You hum in response. “Do I get a reward?” 

“When will the pups be back?” 

“Not till the morning.” You smile as you turn to brush your nose against his. 

“Depends on the idea, but I would like to finish off what we started earlier.” He kisses you quickly, teeth biting your bottom lip gently before dragging it back with them before letting it slip from between them, causing you to moan softly. 

“Demons.” You pull back to look at him. 

“Demons?” 

“Christmas Eve, send some of my demons to deliver these to your friends.” 

“So…evil Santa Clauses?” You summarise before nodding. “Can’t see why that’d be a problem. Maggie’ll love it.” 

“The hunter Maggie?” You nod with a small smile. 

“I’ll message her beforehand.” You promise. “And you’ve gotta take into consideration the time zone.” 

“Of course.” There is silence shared between you as you simply hold each other, rocking gently. Leaning in, you gently kiss him once more. 

“Mr. McLeod, you promised me extra credit.” You whine once more in your falsetto voice. 

“Indeed I did.” He growls, irises flashing red briefly. “Now, what do you say we discuss this further in the bedroom?” 

“Lead the way, Mr. McLeod.”


	7. Day 6 - Cultural Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: Established relationship with Crowley, possible OOCness, removal of clothing but no smut, because I enjoy stringing you all along, joking, but I love making the hellhounds destroy crap so Crowley can’t get laid, and whenever he says the word ‘Bollocks’, makes me laugh
> 
> Word Count: 1, 792 words
> 
> Prompt: On the sixth day of Christmas, that bitch Fate gave to you, six different cultures, five parcels sent, four broken decorations, three hours shopping, two issues sorted and one argument over Christmas Day.

You sigh as you slowly start to stir your tea, ignoring Crowley yelling at Lady, Grinch and Romeo at their latest accident that nearly got you killed. It wasn’t easy being the love interest of the King of Hell, demons who wanted to rise to the top would see you as an easy target for your boyfriend. He’d given you all of Juliet’s litter this year in hopes that they would protect you from any demon attacks.

Today was the first attack in nearly three months. You were walking through King’s Cross Station, trying to get to your platform with Lady, Grinch and Romeo when the black-eyed bastard tackled you into the small space. The poor pups were so excited to be in a station filled with people (because, believe it or not, hellhounds when in canine form are actually quite social) and were overjoyed that, after you found and completed that spell, humans could see them, not just yourself and Crowley. Of course, that meant that the demons could interrogate you for five minutes before any of the pups could notice and go fetch Crowley. And to him, that was five minutes too long.

You were a little shaken up, but it wasn’t your first encounter with a rogue demon and, if this relationship was to continue, you were sure it wouldn’t be your last. The only thing that had really happened during this time round was a twisted ankle from the fall and a sprained wrist from where the demon was holding on to it too hard.

Crowley, after setting Juliet and Growley onto him, ripping the poor vessel and the dick of a spirit to shreds, was a little hard to calm down. He grabbed you by your uninjured wrist and whisked you home, sitting you down and insisting that he’d play doctor. Unfortunately, he didn’t mean the sexy kind. After he had iced your ankle and wrist, gotten you changed out of your jeans and work shirt and into your favourite pyjamas with _Sherlock_ playing in front of you and a cup of tea and a box of chocolate on the table, he went to punish the three hounds. You tried to convince him out of it, but he was in such a rage, you quickly sunk back down into your comfortable couch and watched the original pilot episode in silence.

Which leads to where you are now. A very pissed of King of Hell storming into the living room where you have attempted to make yourself as small as possible, tea half-finished and the chocolates gone (of course, any chocolate put in a close proximity of you wouldn’t survive any longer than ten minutes on a good day). He drops himself heavily on the couch next to you, pulling you over with one arm so you are leaning against him as three Rottweiler puppies come out of your room, tails between their legs. You turn to whisper the spell, and they slowly fade to nothing as the appearance charm is removed and they turn back to hellhounds.

“Are you alright, luv?” He finally asks after a moment of silence.

“It’s not my first kidnapping.” You murmur, shifting slightly. “I’m fine.” You lean up to kiss his tight and unresponsive lips. “But thank you.” You turn back to snuggle into his chest, his arm tightening around you.

“I don’t think I should go to this dinner.” You roll your eyes. “Just hear me out luv. If-”

“If nothing, you promised to be there so you’ll be there, demons be damned!” You both hide your smiles at your last comment. “Bring Juliet and Growley if it makes you feel better, but no. You’re going.”

“But Y/N-”

“Nope.”

“Y/N-”

“Zip it.”

“Darling, I-”

“End of discussion.” You start firmly, not even bothering to look up at him as he sighs.

“What if they attack you and your family?”

“Then you’ll have Juliet and Growley and they can kick arse while we make a quick getaway.”

“You’re saying we’d leg it.”

“Yes.” You agree. “We’d leg it.” Silence beats over you before he sighs again, rubbing his face. “Craig is in the cabinet if you need it.”

There is a click of fingers and his beloved drink is in his opposite hand as his calloused thumb starts to draw circles into your visible hipbone.

“What does your family do for Christmas anyway, luv?” He finally grunt out. “I have no idea what I’m getting into.”

“A first for you, I’m sure.” You tease light-heartedly. “Nothing special really, we have lunch, exchange gifts, fawn over the favourite child of the family and ignore the rest, even though it is unfair that she is getting all the presents and the other children get next-to-none.” You sigh. “We need to do something about that.” Shaking your head, you continue. “Your name is Fergus McLeod and no, you do not go by the name of Crowley. My mother will ask and then you’ll say something about Alistair Crowley or Ozzy Osborne and she’ll go nuts.” You can feel him suppress his smile against your head before moving to take a sip of his drink. “You’re British-Scottish, mother Scottish, father British, adopted at age fourteen. You can play that up any way you like. You work for an insurance firm for rich bastards. Don’t do any magic no matter how tempting the bonfire is, we have a child with pryophobia, you’re your everyday boring, run of the mill son of a bitch.” You scratch your head. “Oh, and you’re a nice guy.” You turn to look up at him. “Be bloody nice.” He chuckles.

“I will luv, I will.” He agrees. Silence ticks over you. “Did you know that in Ukraine, instead of tinsel and baubles and a star-”

“Angel, actually.” You correct. “Gabe came by, changed it and it won’t change back.”

Crowley turns to look at the tree and grumbles when he sees the replica of your favourite angel grinning cheekily from the top of the tree before clicking his fingers and the star returns. “-they use spider webs instead?” He finishes.

You look at him, unamused. “I spent an hour on that tree!” You point at it. “I’m not taking it apart to throw artificial spider webs on it!” He smiles before kissing you softly.

“That’s not my point.” He continues. “It’s just interesting. Like in Austria, Krampus-”

“What? The demon?”

“-the _Christmas_ demon, beats naughty children with branches. Please stop interrupting, darling.” You roll your eyes.

“Very well, master of divine wisdom, tell me more ‘interesting’ Christmas traditions.”

As it turned out, he knew quite a few, most of which were of a more….darker nature. Your personal favourite, as an ex-hunter of course, was the South African belief that a young child, Danny, had eaten the cookies left out for Santa, causing his grandmother to go into a rage and kill him. Now, he haunts family homes at Christmas.

Then again, there was the Greek belief of _Kallikantzaroi_ , a race of evil goblins that lurk underground and during the twelve days of Christmas, they surface and wreak havoc amongst the people. Crowley tried to assure you they weren’t real, but you quickly informed him that you’d have had too many close encounters with the little buggers and you knew for a bloody fact they were real.

He went on about the Icelandic Yule Cat, which ate children who didn’t receive clothes for Christmas, the Catalonian nativity scenes, with a figure of a defecating man called the Caganer and the Guatemalans, who sweep out their houses before Christmas and every neighbourhood creating a late pile of dirt, before placing an effigy of the devil on top and burning it.

“See, much more interesting than your boring Christmas with presents and lunch and boring family members chatting away, leaving behind a mess for the hosts to clean.”

“Actually, we are on clean-up duty.” You sigh. “It’s rostered every year, this year it’s out side. But-” You interject when he opens his mouth to complain. “-we won’t be cleaning.”

“Luv, it’ll look pretty rude if we just sit there and watch the rest of your family clean up.”

“Ah, but we won’t be there!” You smile up at him, his lost look making you realise you haven’t told him everything about your heritage. “My grandmother is Norwegian.” You continue. The lost look continues on. “Really? Your mother was a witch, you don’t know the Norwegian customs regarding witches?”

“Luv, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not Norwegian.” You roll your eyes.

“We don’t clean Christmas Day! Nona hides and locks away all the brooms and clothes and everything until the day after Boxing Day so they can’t be stolen by witches or evil spirits. We used to make it a game, who could find the brooms first? Then we’d have to wait and see if a witch would come and steal them. I think the kids still play it too.”

“Nona?”

“Bapa was Italian.” You explain.” 

“Did you ever see a witch?”

“Once. Me and my cousin found the brooms and we sat and watched for all of the afternoon. We were about to leave when she came in. We were so freaked, all we could do was watch from our hiding spot as she went through my Nona’s hidden closet. Turns out, Bapa was a Wiccan. Had some pretty interesting spell ingredients in there too. Nona, the first hunter in the family, ganked the bitch and swore us both to secrecy. And yes, my Nona is a badass and kicks arse.”

“Ingredients?”

“Grace and wings of an angel, that sort of thing. Angels protect those things with their lives, so it’d be pretty hard to get them.” You comment before moving to straddle his lap. “Feeling better?”

“With you like this, of course.” You roll your eyes.

“Not going to kill my dogs?”

“Not today, no.”

“Good.” You kiss him softly. “I guess you can stay after all.” Your kiss becomes more passionate as he prods in his tongue, pulling yours into a familiar tango. He lifts you up and carries you to your bed.

“Now,” he starts, “you said something about a sexy doctor?” Soon, your shirt is gone and your legs are pulled to his shoulders, he’s head nestled between your thighs as he starts to pull down your panties.

A loud crash makes him stop as he turns to storm out the door with a loud _‘bloody mutts!’_ followed quickly by a _‘I’m going to kill all of you and nothing Y/N can say can change that!’_

.

“No sex ever again if you so much as touch my dogs!”

“Bollocks.”


	8. Day 7 - TV Specials

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: Established relationship with Crowley, possible OOCness,
> 
> Word Count: 566 words
> 
> Prompt: On the seventh day of Christmas, that bitch Fate gave to you, seven Doctor Who seasons watched, six different cultures, five parcels sent, four broken decorations, three hours shopping, two issues sorted and one argument over Christmas Day.

“It sounds ridiculous!” 

“Oi! Don’t you dare mock the Who!” You shout in return, throwing a rum ball in his direction, which he catches and eats. “Have you ever seen it?” 

“I don’t need to see it without knowing that a man in a spaceship that looks like a blue Police Box that is bigger on the inside who clicks his fingers and girls come running into that shag box of his is the most retarded and pathetic thing ever created!” You glare. Yes, you were an A-Class Whovian. You wouldn’t show your darling boyfriend your rather – ahem – large collection of Whovian fanfiction published on your Tumblr account, especially in regards to its contents, but you thought that he would at least like to watch one episode of your beloved BBC TV program. 

“Just one episode, and if you don’t like it, I’ll blow you.” You offer, knowing that your crude words would make him more interested. “But if you like it, you have to wrap every single one of the presents, the human way, by your hand and they have to look fantastic or you’ll have to start again.” He looks at you blankly. 

“You really think you can make me do whatever you want if you pay me with sex?” 

“Well, it’s gotten us this far, hasn’t it?” You retort, already starting the first episode. “One episode, that’s all I’m asking.” 

There is a loud sigh and he sits down next to you, opening his arm up so you can snuggle next to him. “Fine.” You kiss him softly before settling down to watch the Eleventh Doctor save the world from man-eating snowmen. 

**()()()()()**

Six seasons (and three days) later, Crowley was shouting at the television screen as the credits roll. “No, you can’t stop there! What happens to the Doctor? Does he die? What about the Silence? Are they dead? C’mon, you stupid thing, give me answers!” You are trying so hard not to laugh at your boyfriend and his behaviour as he watches the last five minutes of the season six finale. 

“I must say, that Canton fellow was a bit of a looker.” The boyish grin you get in return makes you laugh. 

“They have good tastes.” He agrees before settling down next to you again. 

“So, I gather you like it?” 

“Yes, I was wrong and you were right.” 

“Again.” 

“Again.” Romeo, Capulet and Montague are sleeping down by your feet and you smile as you enjoy the feeling of their chests heaving against your feet as they breathe and snore away. 

“Ya know,” you start, pulling a USB out of your jacket pocket, “there is a season seven.” 

“I knew there was a reason for why I love you.” Crowley grins as he kisses you softly, grabbing the USB to put into your television. 

“Besides my wit and good looks.” 

“And good taste in television, alcohol and food.” He adds, clicking a glass of your favourite drink in your hand and a bottle of Craig with a tumbler in his. He puts his arms around you as _‘The Doctor, The Widow and The Wardrobe’_ starts playing and you sip your drink. 

“So, you’re gonna do the presents then?” A wicked smile passes his lips. 

“Ah, we never sealed the deal.” 

“If I recall, we actually did. Remember?” A few seconds tick by and his grin falls to a frown. 

“Bollocks.”


	9. Day 8 - Card Writing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: Established relationship with Crowley, possible OOCness, fluff, no smuttiness in this one, just a bit of adorableness.
> 
> Word Count: 664 words
> 
> Prompt: On the eighth day of Christmas, that bitch Fate gave to you, eight difficult family members card, seven Doctor Who seasons watched, six different cultures, five parcels sent, four broken decorations, three hours shopping, two issues sorted and one argument over Christmas Day.

~~Dear Marie, Sylvia and Jono,~~

~~Dear Maggie and Sarah,~~

~~Dear Daniel and Jarod,~~

“Bloody hell!” You shout, throwing yet another balled up piece of paper into the overflowing garbage tin, different names written in different brightly and sparkly and scented pens, the latest joining the group read ‘ ~~Dear Sam and Dean,~~ ’.

“Having a spot of trouble, luv?” Crowley asks from his spot on the floor, currently on gift wrapping duty. 

It had to have been the most adorable thing you’d ever seen. Crowley, in all his King of Hell magnificence, sitting cross-legged on your crappy, London-apartment carpet surrounded in gifts and Christmas-themed wrapping paper, pieces of sticky tape stuck to his forearms and rolled up sleeves, his tie, waistcoat and jacket all in the other room and the top four of his buttons undone, giving you a peak of his amazing tattoos. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. 

“Struggling with the last eight of my family members. Hate writing Christmas cards.” You mutter, mostly to yourself, grabbing a new sheet of paper. 

“We could switch, poppet.” He offers, making a move to stand up, pieces of green and red ribbon and colourful homemade bows that look way better than anything an arts and crafts shop could offer fall to the ground. 

“No. If you write in these cards, God knows what’ll make it’s slimy way into them.” You tease, standing to brush your nose against his in an affectionate eskimo kiss. 

“I thought we agreed not to bring the big man upstairs into our bedroom.” He mutters before claiming your lips in a passionate kiss, your tongues instantly falling back into an all-to-familiar dance, arms loosely wrapped around your waist and yours around his neck. “And slimy? Y/N, my love, I’m not that cruel.” 

“Who said anything about cruel?” You ask, leaning back in his embrace. “Crowley, my darling King of Hell, you have done way worse.” 

“But I wouldn’t to your family, no matter how much you dislike them.” He vows. 

“And no matter how much I beg?” You add, to which you just get an amused look. “I must admit though, there is nothing more frightening than seeing the King of Hell making bows and wrapping gifts.” You nod towards the already wrapped and tagged gifts by your dodgy Christmas tree, the two somehow complementing each other even though they are vastly different. “Where the hell did you learn to do that?” 

“I was a tailor once, pet.” He reminds you. “You learn all sorts of useful skills when you’re a tailor.” He purrs. You smile up at him. 

“Yeah, like how to make me a dress appropriate for lunch next week?” You ask only half-jokingly. His gaze glides over your body, eyes slightly glazed over as he starts to mentally prep your new dress.

“I can do if that’s what you want.” He offers. 

“Would I have to trade my soul?” You tease, stepping closer to him. 

“For you? I’d do it simply for a kiss.” 

“And how do I know that the kiss wouldn’t take my soul away?” 

“Well then, I’d guess you’d just have to trust me.” 

“Trust a demon?! Not very hunterly of me.” 

“Oh, trust me dove, I’m a very trustworthy demon. A king never backs down on his word.” You smile. 

“And that’s what got you in this predicament.” You bop his noise playfully before looking back at the massive basket of scrapped Christmas messages. “I’ll think of something.” You finally decide, turning back to him. “How many gifts have you got left?” 

“Five.” He murmurs before you press yourself against him, your lips meeting for a chaste kiss. 

“I feel like going out tonight for dinner.” You eye the clock. Half past six. “New place just opened down the street, wanna come with? If you do, it’s jeans and a shirt, no bloody suit, no matter how sexy it is.” He smiles as he unbuttons up his shirt. 

“Of course luv.” 


	10. Day 9 - Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: Established relationship with Crowley, possible OOCness, not a lot of Crowley, just a bit of backstory of ‘your’ character and how you came to meet Crowley.
> 
> Word Count: 2, 032 words
> 
> Prompt: On the ninth day of Christmas, that bitch Fate gave to you, nine snowballs thrown, eight difficult cards, seven Doctor Who seasons watched, six different cultures, five parcels sent, four broken decorations, three hours shopping, two issues sorted and one argument over Christmas Day.

The hellhounds loved the snow. They’d never seen it before and white flakes of stuff that melts on your tongue, it was possibly the most fascinating thing the small pups had ever seen. So, after breakfast with Crowley, you casted the spell on all six of the pups, making them visible to the human eye under the disguise of Rottweiler puppies before putting on their leashes and walking along to the closest park, arriving just in time for the snow to start drifting to the ground slowly. The moment you arrived, Crowley got a call and, with a kiss and apology, left you to take care of the playing pups, taking numerous photos for your photo albums. When children approached them, they went back on their leashes to try and calm frightened mothers. When your watch read eleven thirty, you gathered the pups and left, the snow slowly starting to stop falling.

The last time you went to the park when the snow was falling, you were merely a girl of the age of twelve living in New York. Your parents used to take you and your siblings to Central Park during a snowing day before back home for some form of roasted dinner. But shortly after that last Christmas, your parents and two youngest siblings were taken from you and your younger brother. _Car accident,_ you were told, _a taxi driver wasn’t paying attention and rammed into their car. They wouldn’t of felt a thing,_ the police said, as if it would offer some comfort. You were forced to move from your beloved city of New York, your home since the age of six, and back to London to live with your grandmother and father.

It didn’t snow as much after that.

You lost your brother to suicide six years later. At the age of sixteen, he’d drowned himself in the bathtub, a note left on your study desk. _Don’t blame yourself._ it said, _just remember I love you, Y/N._

The sun didn’t shine much after that

Then you met Crowley. He was only a hellhound trainer then, but had caught Lilth’s eye as a crossroads demon. It’s funny, how you met that is. You had just finished work at the local hospital in a small town on the outskirts of London, where you were still residing with your grandparents, and he just…appeared. At the time, all you could do was stare. How did a man appear in the middle of a deserted park? Hand in his pockets, staring at you, right into your eyes. It felt almost revealing, like he had stripped you naked of your clothes and had left you bare in every way. Then, he had walked up to you. You were in such a state of shock, stranger danger wasn’t something you thought of until he stopped right in front of you, his toes touching yours.

 _“Hello darling.”_ Was the first sentence he said to you and still remains to this day your absolute favourite phrase of his.

He tried, of course, to convince you to sell your soul to him. For fame, fortune, a good looking husband, the return of your family. But, you stood by your decision. Your family wouldn’t have wanted to you sell your soul for their lives and fame and fortune never appealed to you. You left that day without knowing his name or why he just stood there, staring at you as you walked off.

Two weeks later, he appeared in your office, now a crossroads demon whose sole purpose was to deal and collect souls. Typing away at an email, you looked up for merely a second and he was there.

_“Hello darling.”_

He tried to make a deal with you. Better job, better pay, better house, better family. Again, you said no. When he asked, you simply said that it didn’t feel right, that you wanted to achieve those things by working for it, not by cheating and sealing your soul for it. He left shortly after that.

It wasn’t even a week later that he appeared in your apartment. _“Hello darling.”_ Pot in hand, you spun around to see him, in his usual black suit, hands in their pockets. Again, he offered. Loyalty, wisdom, talent. Again, you said no. Again, he asked why. But, instead of responding with an answer, you asked a question.

_“Why do you keep coming back when the answer remains the same?”_

He left after that, no answer, no question, no anything. The next day, he returned when you were having lunch at the local café. You were sipping your coffee when he arrived. Not giving him time to offer you a deal for your soul, you simply said “Coffee?”. He accepted before launching into his usual speech. You repeated the question from the day before. This time, you got a response.

“Because I hope the next time I offer, you say yes.” You smiled at that, sipping your drink quietly before looking up to meet his gaze, realization hitting you suddenly.

“Come back tomorrow.” You instructed without even thinking about what you were saying.

His face became adorably scrunched up in confusion. “Why?”

You smiled kindly up at him. “Because tomorrow I might just say yes.”

The sun seemed to shine more after that.

Your next meeting wasn’t even twenty-four hours later. You had woken up, showered, dressed and prepared yourself for the day ahead when you walked out to see a smiling, still unnamed, crossroads demon with a bag and takeaway cup held out to you. You smiled as he looked at you expectantly as you took the offered food and drink. “Well?”

“Not today.”

This continued on for two years. Every day, he’d pop up at some random part of your day, always when you were alone and in appropriate attire for company; and every day you’d give him the same answer. “Not today; maybe tomorrow.”

It wasn’t until the eighth week of this almost game-like agreement that you discovered his name and heard the word Y/N pass his lips. It was the sexiest thing you had ever heard. Everything that he said was somewhat sexy. He could be reading Shakespeare, _’Twilight’, ‘Harry Potter’_ , erotica, Hell, even the dictionary in his voice would make you hot under the collar. Once he found this out (“By accident, of course.” He had assured you), he used it to his advantage. 

Finally, he gave up on offers and words to simply start doing what he offered, hoping that it would tempt you into more or guilt you into giving him your soul. But every day it was the same. Try again tomorrow.

It wasn’t until the eighteen month mark, where you had cheekily made an eighteen anniversary cake to give to him, that he finally asked the question that had been bugging him for over a year.

“Why do you always tell me to maybe tomorrow if you’re already know you’re going to say no?”

“Why do you always come back even though you know I’m going to say no?” Was your reply as you watch him eat a slice of the chocolate-mint cake. He just looked at you and changed the subject.

That was the other thing that had changed. It was no longer a business deal, not a simple _‘hi, can I take your soul? Maybe tomorrow? Okay, bye’_ sort of a thing anymore. No, you two had become acquaintances, perhaps even friends. He knew about your family, the ups and downs, your failed previous relationship that fell apart days after he first rocked up (“I could kill him you know. Or at least seriously injure him.” “Shut up, Crowley.), and you knew all the ups and downs of being a crossroads demon in comparison to the joys of being a hellhound trainer. You had seen him bloodied after being the torturer and the tortured. You had seen him exhausted; the only thing he desired was good company and a tumbler of his beloved Craig, after dealing with Lilth. You had seen him looking at the sky in a childlike amazement as snow gently drifted to the ground, which didn’t last long as you pelted him with snowballs. You managed to hit him with nine clear shots before a small avalanche of snow from the building’s rooftops fell harmlessly on your head, a wet but clearly amused Crowley staring at you before taking you to your apartment to clean and warm up.

That day led to confessions and, as you beloved friend would say, several ‘chick flick’ moments. One thing led to another when you asked why he was so interested in you. “You are the only soul I have never been able to collect. No human should ever be able to resist temptation the way you do.”

Of course, he also asked why you even bothered to spend time with him. “You’re the only soul I know who hasn’t asked anyone for help, love or friendship; even though I can see that you crave it more than any number deal gone right.”

The night ended with you falling asleep with your head in his lap. How you got to bed the next morning, fully changed into a new set of plain, black silk pyjamas and tucked in tightly like your mother used to do it was beyond you until you walked into the lounge room to see Crowley asleep on your couch, the news silently playing on your shitty television.

Then, it happened. Four years ago, the day before Halloween of 2010, he picked you up from work after your late shift. He took you to Queensland, Melbourne, Japan, Vancouver and Sioux Falls before returning you to Paris to the restaurant that your grandparents took you for you twenty-first, where your cheating son-of-a-bitch of a boyfriend purposed to you and by far your favourite restaurant in Europe.

“Is this a date?” You asked at the end of the evening, his hands holding yours gently as you stand at your shitty apartment’s door.

“Depends, do you want it to be?” He had asked, his hand lifting on up to ghost his lips against your palm.

You already knew the answer to his question, but still-“Depends if your serious or not.”

“I’m always serious, pet.” You laughed before you pulled your hand back. His fingers looped through your two front belt loops and pulled you towards him, eliminating any space between you.

“And how do I know that this doesn’t involve my soul?” You raised your eyebrow at him.

“You don’t.”

“So I should trust you?” 

“I have given you everything you could have wanted and offered you more, all without taking your soul. I took you all around the world before back to Paris to your favourite restaurant for our first outing. I’ve shown you my hellhounds, which could have ripped you to shreds at any time I gave the word. I have been in and out of your life for the past two years, at any time I could have taken your soul. I have claimed you as mine, keeping you safe from demons, angels, monsters, humans. I have killed for you, tortured for you, waited for you. I think you can trust me.” 

“Is that supposed to be romantic?” 

“Of course, luv.” 

“And I can expect more of that?” 

“Yes darling.”

“Then yes. Yes, I want it to be.” 

And just like that, the snow seemed to fall a lot more regularly.

The pups barking as you enter your apartment building pulls you out of your thoughts, shushing them as you walk up to the elevator leading you to your apartment, Crowley’s first year anniversary gift to you. Unlocking your door, you usher the pups inside before following, smiling when you see your boyfriend standing there with a dark red rose held out in front of him, a candlelit lunch prepared for the two of you behind him.

“Hello darling.”


	11. Day 10 - Hot Chocolate and Cuddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: Established relationship with Crowley, possible OOCness,
> 
> Word Count: 1, 228 words
> 
> Prompt: On the tenth day of Christmas, that bitch Fate gave to you, ten minutes freezing, nine snowballs thrown, eight difficult cards, seven Doctor Who seasons watched, six different cultures, five parcels sent, four broken decorations, three hours shopping, two issues sorted and one argument over Christmas Day.

You wake up with the desperate need for a drink. Throwing back your blankets, you expect to greet a warm room, but suddenly the need for warmth overthrows the need for liquid. It was freezing. You gather your blanket closer to you, trying to conserve heat glaring over to the snoring pups.

Normally, a certain King of Hell would be sharing your bed and would be more than willing to participate in certain activities that would warm you up. But, after your romantic lunch he had organised and made himself, he unfortunately had a business call with the rogue crossroads demons taking souls before their time prancing their way through the US; so you wouldn’t be expecting him until at least Christmas Eve. Until then, you were on your own. And, unfortunately for you, Montague had ripped your best blanket to shreds and you were left with your extra thin sheet you used for the occasional hot summer’s night. All because that bloody mutt decided that it’d be fun to rip your favourite winter blanket apart.

The need for something to warm you up makes you sigh as you pull back the blankets, skin instantly forming goosebumps in the chilled air. You pull on your sweater and wrap the thin sheet around you as you trod into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge to notice the lack of light coming from it.

Shit. No wonder it was so cold. The fucking power was out.

A quick trip to the window told you that, yes, it was the snow that caused you to have no access to anything warm. All you wanted was some reheated leftover Chinese and some hot chocolate, was that too much to ask?

Shutting the curtain, you storm back into your bedroom, angry that you had no way of keeping warm. You grab your phone and check the time quickly. Two in the fucking morning. Quickly calculating the time difference, you smile when you realise that it was three in the afternoon over in Australia. Logging in to your Tumblr, you quickly find your best friend’s account and attempt to start a chat.

Of course, that’s when your battery decided it would be a good time to die. Growling in frustration, you throw your phone onto your bed before faceplanting yourself onto the pillow next to it.

“Bit chilly in here, isn’t luv?” The British voice makes you sigh with happiness.

“Yeah well, the snow has put out the electricity.” You complain. “No bloody heating.” Suddenly, a light weight is placed on you and you turn to see that it is an exact replica of the blanket that is currently torn to shred in your living room. A dip in the bed makes you snuggle against the warm King of Hell, his arms wrapping themselves around you. Your fingertips instantly go to trace around the images inked into his skin.

“Better, luv?”

You groan happily. “Yes, thank you Crowley.” He brushes his lips against the juncture of your neck. You could feel his lips turned up into a smile. “What happened to the crossroads demon?”

“Ah. The Winchesters managed to get all the hard work done for me. All I had to do was take the little prat and make an example of him.” You shudder at his words, knowing all-to-well what would have happened to the demon. “Moose got married. Becky, I believe her name was.”

“Not Becky?!” You smirk when you hear the news. “Poor Sammy.”

“You know her?”

“I know _of_ her. Sam rarely shuts up about her whenever Dean gets the chance to bring her up in conversation.” You wait a moment. “Promise me that you won’t do anything stupid for Christmas dinner at Bobby’s?”

“Anything to keep you happy.” He pulls you in closer. “You know,” he starts after a moment’s silence as you take in each other’s company, “there are other ways to keep warm.” You look up at him as he kisses you gently.

“Mmm?” You smirk against his lips as they gently brush against yours. “Such as?”

A click of his fingers leaves you sitting up against his chest as he sits up against the headboard, a laptop between your legs playing _The Impossible Astronaut_ softly as he rests his head on your shoulder. A mug is pressed into your hands and you smile at his choice of drink.

“This better be as good as my Nona’s.” You warn as you sip the hot chocolate, moaning at the sudden burst of flavour in your mouth. You sit there in silence as Crowley rubs circles into the sides of your hips as you drink your delicious hot chocolate (which always seems to top up when you reach about halfway) and watching his favourite episode of _Doctor Who_ , happy with the situation you were in. Then the memories started rolling in.

“We used to do this, you know.” You whisper sadly, putting the mug down on the table next to you. “Sebastian and I. We used to stay up until Christmas morning watching movies, playing games, drinking hot chocolate, eating snacks. We’d try to catch Santa, but we never could. Mama, Bapa and Nona were too good for us.” His grip tightens marginally. “I miss him, ya know? But if I was to try and bring him back, he wouldn’t want to be here. He would be so mad that I did anything to reverse what was done.” Crowley kisses your collarbone in a gently form of encouragement. “Still, I would do anything to be able to go back and tell myself that something wasn’t right.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Y/N.” Crowley tells you firmly. “You couldn’t have known that he was going to do that.”

“But there were _signs_ , Crowley.” You insisted. “Signs that I missed.” Silence washes over you.

“Pet, you know that I did not have a pleasant upbringing.” He begins, pausing the episode before continuing. “I didn’t have loving parents like you did. I didn’t have siblings like you did. My own mother tried to sell me off for three pigs for Christ’s sake!” With each word he spoke, the more guilt you felt. “But, there are still times that I miss that life. Even with all the abuse and neglect, there were positives too.”

“What are you trying to say, Crowley?”

“I’m saying that the more you hold onto the past, the more it’ll influence your future.” He says gently. “You can’t hold onto the negative and wishing for the positive to return, or else you’ll just become bitter and cold.” He spins you around so you can face him his left hand coming up to cup your face and his right trailing up to your waist, tracing light patterns onto your skin. “And Sebastian wouldn’t have wanted that.” You smile and nod.

“I’m sorry Crowley.” You whisper before leaning in to kiss him gently.

“Don’t be. How many times have you listened to me rant on about the stupidity of demons, hellhounds, hunters and angels alike?” You smirk at that.

“Too many to count.” You agree before kissing him again, this time with more passion and force. “I know something that will warm us up.” You tease with a wink, hand slowly making its way down his chest. Crowley laughs before pulling you up so you are straddling his lap.

“That’s my girl.”


	12. Day 11 - Cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: Established relationship with Crowley, possible OOCness, high!reader, injured!reader, possible triggers for suicide and negative views on oneself caused by bullying by family members.
> 
> Word Count: 2, 324 words
> 
> Prompt: On the eleventh day of Christmas, that bitch Fate gave to you, eleven stitches stitched, ten minutes freezing, nine snowballs thrown, eight difficult cards, seven Doctor Who seasons watched, six different cultures, five parcels sent, four broken decorations, three hours shopping, two issues sorted and one argument over Christmas Day.

Your kitchen was a mess, as it was every year when you prepared your plate for Christmas Day. Bowls, spoons, opened containers and packets crowd your bench, the white dusting of flour and icing sugar fill in the spaces between them. The sound of  _‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’_  playing in the background as you sing along with the music drifting through your apartment, the hellhounds currently playing in your study, which has been cleared completely so they can have somewhere to play without destroying anything of value.

Humming along with  _Jack’s Obsession_ , you move to grab a chopping board and your large knife, ignoring the beeping of the ice-cream machine. Grabbing the closest bag of chocolate, opening it and groaning when you realise that they are all individually wrapped. For God’s sake.

Sighing, you set to work, unwrapping and chopping the different flavoured bars, putting them into a large bowl. Honeycomb pieces, shards of green mint and flakes of chocolate first make their way into the mix. Mixing it through, you put the bag in the trash and move to wash your hands before grabbing the ice-cream from the still-beeping maker. You grin as you pour the half-frozen mixture into the chocolate mess, mixing it through before pouring it into the mould. You add a thick layer of grated white and milk chocolate on before shoving it back in the freezer to set. You smile as you look around your disaster of a kitchen.

Your mother had called in the wee hours of the morning to inform you that, yes, you would need to bring a couple of things to the lunch instead of nothing as you have previously discussed. Now, you had to make an appetizer, main and dessert. Appetizer would be fine, your Nona was expecting meatballs this year and meatballs she shall have. Desserts, the chocolate cassata and frozen raw cookie dough ice cream sandwiches that was now freezing in the freezer, were done and ready to go. But for main, your mother said to make a glazed ham. That was going to be a problem.

For starters, you hated ham. Bacon, pork belly, sausages, they were fine. But ham? Just the thought of the smell it would create in your kitchen was enough to make you gagged.

You were sure Julie had done this on purpose. If you ever cooked a main, it was always lamb and she would do the ham. But this year, she decided to do the lamb. Or, you know, you could be over exaggerating as well.

So now, here you are. Googling every cooking website and researching the crap out of every Jamie Oliver cooking book you had in your apartment.

“Yeah, this ham is going to be the best shit anyone has ever tasted.” You smirk over at your fabulously flamboyant friend, Jaydan, who tosses another book to the side. “Girl, I have a feeling that even your grandmother is going to love this ham.”

“Yeah, on the way to the hospital she can tell me how succulent and moist it was.” You tease, moving to sit next to him.

“Speaking of moist,” Jaydan starts, a look forming in his eye, “when do you need the riding crop by?” You glare over at him.

“I blame you for that, you arse.” You smack him. “You made him get a thing for Adler, and I’ll never forgive you for it.” Jaydan knocks back his head and laughs.

“Just trying to spice up your sex life.”

“Any spicier and it’ll be a vindaloo.” You comment, causing him to laugh again.

“Whatever you say, luv.” He throws his arm around you before checking his watch. “Oh shit, I’ve gotta go.” You glare at him. “I know, I know!”

“You said you’d watch the pups!” You whine. Now you had to wait for Crowley to get back before you could go shopping.

“I know, but Ethan is waiting for me at the station and you know what he gets like.” Jaydan stands and grabs his blazer before pulling you up and giving you a hug. He kisses your cheek before rushing out the door. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise!”

You glare at the door as slams shut behind him before looking over at the kitchen, sighing. Grabbing your bookmarked recipe book, you make your way over to the disaster zone and start to clean up. Bowls, chopping boards, knives and the like go into the soapy water before you wipe down the bench of all the flour, icing sugar and brown sugar stuck to the dark coloured stone. Moving to start on the mountain of dishes that needed to be done, you start to hum  _‘Making Christmas’_  along with the movie in front of you. Your mind goes traveling as you complete the mundane job.

You were worried about Crowley. Actually, no, you were more worried about your family than Crowley. You knew for a fact that Crowley had a temper, especially when it came to you. The sometimes-humorous-but-normally-dangerous protective behaviour he performed was something that you hadn’t really thought of until know. True, you and your extended family hadn’t really been close. If you could have it your way, you’d have breakfast with your grandparents and then spend the rest of the day with Crowley and the pups, just doing whatever you felt like that that moment.

Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be the case. Bloody family members. Crowley was right, every year it was the same. But not in the way he had stated eleven days ago. Screaming, snot-nosed children crying over poorly chosen presents, relatives interrogating everything about me and our relationship, horrid food and poor choices in drink would be much more preferred than what you actually have to experience.

To begin with, you had to ignore the fact that you know the selective few in your family, the favourites of your great-grandmother, got to spend a week overseas, spending money that actually didn’t belong to them but belonged in your and your cousin’s inheritance (given to you by her late husband). From there you had to give every child-related presents, whether they were hers or not, to the Golden Child, Marie, to open before choosing whether or not she liked it enough to want it or giving it to the child of her choice. From there, all adult-related presents went to your great-grandmother who would open them and decide to whom which present went to which one of her favourite adults. You were yet to receive a gift on Christmas Day.

From there, you had to sit with your family and agree with every little comment made about you and the children. From what a failure you had been to what a success your drug-addicted cousin Julie was and how pathetic your autistic cousin Samuel was to how Marie getting a D- on her latest test showed that the teachers where jealous and angered by her pure skill and talent that obviously outshone them. You would ignore the few jabs about your bond-brothers Sam and Dean, the homophobic comments about the possibility that Cas and Dean might start dating any time soon and how repulsive that is and the disgusted looks and degrading comments about your almost-adoptive-father Bobby. To drag Crowley into such an environment, with degrading and horrific comments thrown to everyone except the chosen few? Was bound to cause trouble, especially if he stuck to the whole ‘successful rich bastards life insurance’, Julie would be all over him. Then that’ll end up with comments about how he should be with her because she is better and more successful, prettier and smarter than you.

A tear drops into the water below you. Yeah, that’s why you hated Christmas. You hated your family and their fucked up ways. You hated how you were always the bottom of the board, how no one cared about you. How no one came to see if you were alright when you O.D.ed on pain meds, or when you attempted to drown yourself, or when you jumped in front of a cab, breaking three of your bones. How, the next family gathering, they told you how weak you were for trying to give up, how selfish you were for attempting to leave this world before your time, leaving the rest of them to mourn, how pathetic you were for not even being able to achieve it, how you were simply a failure at life. How ugly, how fat, how pathetic, how stupid, how-

Red. You look down at the water in front of you and notice the water changed colour from soapy brown to red. There is a whine next to you as you lift up your hand and grimace.

Your knife had lodged itself through your hand, causing it to bleed heavily into the water below you. You look down to see the Rottweiler pup with the collar tag reading _‘Lady’_  sitting next to you. Swearing, you grab a tea towel and wrap it firmly around your hand, taking great care not to move or dislodge the knife, not wanting to cause anymore damage. Had it been seven years ago, you wouldn’t have cared less. But now, now you have a reason to live.

Crowley. Shit. You can’t let him know. You bend down to Lady to look her firmly in the eyes. “Do not find Crowley, okay? Mama is going to go to the hospital, but you will all stay here.” The adrenaline burns through your veins as you grab your keys and rush out the door, hoping that the pup would obey your instructions.

 

**()()()()()**

 

Arriving at your hospital’s emergency room, you rush to the front desk. The new male nurse in front of you jumps when he sees you and your now blood-soaked tea-toweled hand. “Nurse Y/N!” He shouts, his voice high pitched and squeaky. “What happened?!”

“Heya Rory.” You smile, the pain now beginning to edge its way into existence. “Bit of a spat with my knife.” It’s only then the nurse sees the black handle. “Could you please fill in my paperwork? Everything should be on file.” He nods mutely, still looking at your hand in wonder. “Awesome.” You go to sit down next to a man with a clearly dislocated shoulder. Best thing about Christmas, the amount of amusing stories you get in the A&E.

It wasn’t ten minutes before you were escorted inside the actual A&E, the main Doctor for the evening ready to have a look at your hand. Unwrapping the tea-towel, Rory takes one look at the injury and faints. The Irish doctor looks unamused before nodding at the injury. “It’s going to need stitches.”

An hour later, you leave with eleven stitches on each side of your bandaged hand (which made it look pretty rockin’), a few bandage kits, some disinfectant and a ton of medication that would envy a pharmacy’s stock room, not including the magnificent shit they pumped into your veins not even forty-five minutes ago.

Walking back to your apartment wasn’t easy. You got lost on the road twice, even though they are no turns to get from your workplace to your homeplace. Hehehehe. Homeplace. You needed to add that to the dictionary somehow.

But when you eventually  _did_  get home the place wasn’t empty.

Or clean for that matter.

It was trashed. Furniture upended, everything that wasn’t in cupboards or drawers thrown onto the ground, and even then some drawers were upended and cupboards emptied. The only thing that wasn’t broken was a half-drunken bottle of Craig. Which meant one thing.

“Crowley!” You shout. “What the fuck did you do to my home?!” You sway slightly before to hands meet your waist, turning you around sharply. “Whoa.” You giggle as the world seems to continue turning. Wait, of course its turning. Its the Earth. It turns all the time. “Dumbarse.” You chuckle as concerned eyes trace your body. “Stop moving your body, you’re gonna make me sick.” You complain. An amused eyebrow is raised before he moves you to settle into one of your chairs.

“What happened?” He asks, finally noticing your hand.

“I cutteded myself.” You nod proudly as you start to fill him in on the events just past. “And there was a nurse called Rory and I made him faint because he was chicken and he couldn’t look at my wound. And then they wouldn’t let me take the knife back, they stole my knife Crowley!” You whine, not caring that the painkillers have you talking like a five-year-old. “Oh! And I have eleven stitches each side! It looks kinda badarse and sexy.” You wave your bandaged hand in front of him. “See, look, look, look, see? I got big girl bandaid!” He rolls his eyes.

“Why didn’t you call me pet?” He finally asks, his hand moving to cup your cheek. You shrug.

“You’ve been busy lately and I didn’t want to take you from work.” You explain, your voice still childlike which makes the King of Hell even more amused. “And it’s just a cut. And you worry too much. You went on a rampage because I wasn’t here.”

“No, I went on a rampage because Lady came to get me and I came back to see a blood trail on your floor, Y/N.” He drawls. “Then I was informed you had injured yourself and didn’t call me!”

“Kiss it better?” You wave your hand in front of him again. He takes it and kisses it gently before putting it down and sweeping you into his arms, carrying you bridal style to your bedroom. “We’re gonna play Sexy Doctors and Nurses now?”

“No, you’re going to go to sleep.” He informs you, but you had already fallen asleep, snoring softly. Crowley chuckles as he lowers you gently onto the bed before slipping in next to you, smoothing your hair down before kissing your nose softly.

“Goodnight luv.”


	13. Day 12 - Christmas Eve - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: Established relationship with Crowley, possible OOCness.
> 
> Word Count: 853 words
> 
> Prompt: On the twelfth day of Christmas, that bitch Fate gave to you, twelve reasons to not attend, eleven stitches stitched, ten minutes freezing, nine snowballs thrown, eight difficult cards, seven Doctor Who seasons watched, six different cultures, five parcels sent, four broken decorations, three hours shopping, two issues sorted and one argument over Christmas Day.

This was it. Christmas Eve and your nerves for Christmas Day were beginning to emerge from their year-long slumber.

When you were a kid, you were nervous to find out whether or not Santa was going to give you anything, whether or not you’d been a good girl all year around. When you were a teenager, it was excitement for whether or not you got the books, CD’s or concert tickets you had been hinting at since August. As an adult, however, it was nerves for what you would have to put up with the next day. Your emotions always ran high every Christmas, and this year it was no different.

That’s why you had to convince Crowley into not going.

You weren’t sure how he’d react to you suddenly pulling out of this Godforsaken lunch, but you were sure his reaction would be, but you were certain it would be more preferable to his reaction to the way your family treats you.

So, a bottle of opened Craig and a summoning spell later, you and Crowley were sitting at your table, him sipping on his beloved spirit and you slowly munching away at your dinner as you told him that tomorrow, you thought it was best that he didn’t attend.

His reaction surprised you.

Instead of being angry or mad at the fact you made him promise to go and had him secretly stressing for nearly a fortnight, his arms went into the air as he cried out a simple “thank you!”, sighing contently as he sips his drink once more. You smile, happy that you can attend your hell in peace without the threat of a Crowley meltdown.

“So, want to go down to Hell tomorrow then, pet?” He asks as you take your now empty plate up to the sink to wash up. “Or to Robert’s if you must. Paris is sounds lovely for a Christmas destination, don’t you think luv?” You turn to raise an eyebrow at his happy ramblings before stating something that makes his happiness turn into suspicion.

“I’ll still go.” You state with a grim smile. “I have to, I am obliged to. You, on the other hand, could have an issue at work that simply must be dealt with or otherwise the entire industry of Satan’s Soul Insurance could fall.” You move to sit back down, taking your white wine in hand to sip, trying to ignore his eyes staring into yours. “What now?”

“Nothing poppet.” He shakes his head before standing, taking your hand and moving you to your couch. “ _Doctor Who_?” You roll your eyes.

“Fine. But make it Eleven. Oh! Make it the human-eating snowman one!” You bounce up and down in joy. “Nothing says Christmas like snowmen with pointy teeth.” Your boyfriend rolls his eyes before organising the episode of your choice to play on the screen.

 

**()()()()()**

 

After a few episodes of your beloved  _Doctor Who_ , you yawn widely before snuggling against your boyfriend. His hand goes up to stroke your hair slightly, causing you to melt into his arms.

“Y/N,” he begins, “I’m going to ask you something and you need to answer honestly.” You blink.

“Why wouldn’t I be truthful?” You mumble. “But fine, fire away.”

“What is the real reason you don’t want me there tomorrow?” You stiffen before looking up at him.

“I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, and I-”

“Shh.” He presses his finger to your lips. “I don’t want to hear lies. Tell me the truth, pet.” There was a beat of silence as you collect your thoughts, but apparently that wasn’t good enough for the King of Hell. “Y/N. Truth. Now.”

“Can’t I keep it private?” You ask before snorting at the look he throws you. “Apparently not.” You sigh before snuggling deeper into his embrace. “Because I was afraid of how you would react to my family.”

“Luv, I would never hurt your family unless they were a danger-”

“To me, Crowley?” You move so you can sit up and look at him. “A physical danger to me, sweetheart, or a psychological danger to me? Because, let me tell you, after the first hour there, you’ll be wanting to kill someone, maybe even yourself.”

“What do they do, pet?” He asks after a moment’s silence. You shrug.<.>

“Enough.” You finally find the only word that suits he answer.

“So, the reason you don’t want me to go is because of your family’s pathetic opinions of you, which must be completely false if they are anything but positive.” Your smile is forced, tight even. “But….there is more, pet?” You shake your head.

“No, hun. Just thought that you wouldn’t want to go. I realised it was wrong of me to ask of you to go when it was obvious you hate it all.” You shrug, trying to ease off his suspicion.

He simply hums, sipping his drink once more. You swallow as you see his calculating look, you know that he is planning something.

“You won’t go with me, will you?”

“Of course not, luv.”

This did not calm your nerves.


	14. Day 12 - Christmas Day - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: Established relationship with Crowley, possible OOCness, possible triggers for suicide and self-harm and smut.
> 
> Word Count: 7, 100 words
> 
> Prompt: Christmas Day has finally arrived. Crowley meets your family and after lunch, you spend the rest of the evening celebrating Christmas in your own special way.

You grunt as you attempt to shut your overflowing boot. You sigh happily as the boot finally locks, the window now simply just a colourful display of Christmas-themed wrapping paper. Crowley stands there, holding the picnic basket filled with food, looking mildly amused at your struggle.

“You’ll be okay, luv?” He asks as he passes you the basket, which you slide into the back seat.

“Peachy.” You assure. “I’ll message you when I get home.” His nose wrinkles in disgust as you kiss his cheek gently.

“Not in public, Y/N.” He whines.

“Oh please.” You scoff. “I think the news was let out when you single-handedly killed-slash-tortured that massive demon’s nest in Illinios.”

“They were about to kill you!” He retorts as he pulls you in for a hug. “They shouldn’t touch what is mine.”

“Oo, possessive much? Cause that’s hot.” You tease, brushing your nose against his. “Either way, the secret’s out.”

“I have an image to maintain.” He shrugs. “Getting a kiss from my girlfriend-”

“-shows that you love her and care for her more than you do your ‘scary-King-of-Hell image.” You finish the sentence off for him, kissing him gently before moving back to open the front door, whistling loudly. “Okay, you mutts! In!”

All six of the hellhound pups rush into the car, jumping over the driver’s seat and into the passenger’s side, Grinch and Lady laying down calmly on the seat, the other four yipping and chasing each other around on the floor. “Do you really think it’s wise to take them to an all-human fuction?” Crowley asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Have you seen them around children?” You grin. “They’ll be fine. They can give you the souls of my cousins if you want.” He squints.

“Julie or Marie?

“Both if you want.” You kiss him one last time as the door behind you shuts. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“See you soon, poppet.” He grins, kissing once more before you slide into your car.

“Have fun!” You call out as you move to merge into the lane, Crowley sending you a small wave.

“Oh, I intend to.”

 

**()()()()()()**

 

As expected, your younger cousins loved the puppies. Marie, of course, dictated herself to be their main carer for the afternoon and that no one else was allowed to touch them unless they had her express permission, to which the adults cooed and complimented her ‘apparent’ leadership skills. You smiled at them before telling her firmly, and maybe not so kindly, that they were your dogs and that you decided who was their carer for the day. Even with everyone’s sharp glares piercing through your back, you turn to Samuel to ask him.

“Hey Sammy.” You murmur, holding out your hand for him to hold. “How are you, sweetie?” He shrugs, his beautiful steel grey eyes avoiding contact with your Y/E/C eyes. “Do ya wanna watch my dogs? I need someone big and strong and loving to take care of them and to scold them when they are naughty, and I think you’d be just perfect for the job. Wanna do it for me?” His eyes flicker over to the six pups, who were miraculously behaving, sitting in a straight line, tails wagging happily.

 _‘Names?’_  He signs, his eyes not wavering from the dogs.

“Well, there is Romeo, Montague and Capulet. Then there is Lady, Olivia and the one at the end is Grinch.” You ignore a couple of the snickers at the names, no doubt several noses wrinkled in disgust at your name choice. “Hmm? Waddaya say?” After a few seconds, your autistic cousin nods, reaching out to pat Romeo. “Alrightly then, now. Pups.” You glare at your puppies once more. “Behave.” With that, you leave the sandy-blonde boy in charge and go back to your family.

“A highly autistic child should not be taking care of dogs.” Was the first thing that came out of your grandmother’s mouth. “Marie would be a better guardi-”

“And yet, they are my dogs, so I can do what I bloody well want with them.” You growl out, ignoring the glares that are sent your way. “They are training to be Speech Therapy dogs, so having the experience would be good for both of them.” You explain after a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves.

Silence rings through the table, snow drifting softly outside before finally, your recently-dyed green-haired cousin pipes up from her current man-whor-, you mean _boyfriend’s_  lap. “So, Y/N,” she starts, “where’s your plus one? Didn’t you promise to bring your boyfriend this year?” Everyone swivels to look at you, completely missing her victorious smirk.

“He sends his regards and apologises that he-”

“-was running a little late. Hello poppet.” You turn around as your jaw drops to see none other than your smirking and smoking hot boyfriend. Out of his usual power suit, Crowley had decided that, in light of the ‘informal’ event, he’d wear a pair of dark denim jeans, slightly faded at the knees as if he spent a lot of time on them, a Doctor Who shirt with a black blazer over the top. Shiny black shoes don his feet.

Crowley swoops down to kiss you while you are still silenced in shock. “Sorry luv.” He half-apologises in your ear as he hugs you. “Couldn’t resist.”

“You are so not getting your reward now.” You hiss in his ear.

“Aww, not even a Christmas present?” He grins cheekily as you two pull apart. You raise your eyebrow in a silent  _keep-talking-and-I’ll-exorcise-your-arse_. Crowley moves to shake hands with the men and hug the women as they all make an effort to introduce themselves. Julie tried extra hard to earn his attention by ‘accidentally’ falling into his lap, not-so-subtly grinding her hips as she removed herself from him. Holding out his hand, he grabs your wrist and pulls you to sit on the arm of his chair, his arm now possessively wrapped around your waist with his hand flared across your thigh. Your arm makes its way around the back of his head to rest comfortably on the back of his chair, your legs now crossed, mirroring your cousin in every way. It read  _’he’s mine, back off’_. Of course, that didn’t stop Julie from eyeing him as your relatives shoot questions at him.

“So, where are you from?”

“Scotland, but I was adopted by an English couple when I was a teen.”

“Where do you work?”

“Luci’s Insurance. We are trying to move our base from America to here, which is why I unfortunately haven’t been here for previous Christmases.”

“So, you I.T or-”

“I’m more or less the owner, I run everything in the Europe division.”

“How’d you meet?”

“In the park, six years ago.”

“How old are you?” You swallow, looking down at him, nodding him to continue.

“Thirty-three.”

Silence falls over the table as everyone looks at you. “It’s only a six year age gap.” You tried to reason. Of course, that didn’t improve things.

“He’s too old for you.” Your grandmother declares, her accented voice carrying powerfully over the table. “Obviously, you are with him for less than honourable means.” Crowley’s hand squeezes tightly on your thigh as he reigns in his anger. “If I were you, my boy, I’d run as far away as you can from this monstrosity, this, this, this…… _wreck_ , this  _failure_  of a human being.” She leans in close and you cover his hand warningly, knowing what is about to be said. “Why, she can’t even kill herself! The amount of times she’s tried, hanging, pills, jumping in front of cars, slitting her wrists. She even fails at what most succeed at!” Your stomach plummets to the ground. Yes, you had told Crowley that you had been put in a drug-induced coma, but never due to suicide. That was something you didn’t want anyone to know.

The grip on your thigh becomes tighter, bruising your skin no doubt, as the silence continues to tick over.

 _‘Oh God,’_  you think,  _'the first boy I bring home, they scare off. He’s gonna dump me, how stupid, why would he love you, pathetic, can’t even kill yourself, he doesn’t love you any more, just die, so stupid, so ugly, fat, moronic-’_

“Well, I’m glad she didn’t succeed.” His voice finally found as his powerful voice carries itself into the ears of her family. Once he starts, he cannot stop. His voice becoming louder and louder with each sentence passing. “Because then I would never have met her and I definitely wouldn’t have had the privilege to get to know her and fall in love with her. I wouldn’t know that when it rains, she likes to pile blanket after blanket until she is practically suffocating in the damned things while watching children’s shows. I wouldn’t know that when it’s sunny, she’ll spend ten minutes in the sun before she has to go in the shade because she’ll start to burn. I wouldn’t know her smile, her laugh, her humour. I wouldn’t know how to comfort her when she is in tears, how to calm her when she is angry and how to make her laugh when she is sad. I wouldn’t know that she has a crush on the Eleventh Doctor because of his dorkiness, loves the Ninth Doctor because of his humour, thinks the Tenth Doctor is cute but a little too crazy for her tastes and if it came down to it, she’d rather date Canton than one of the Doctors. I wouldn’t know that she lost her parents and her siblings in New York, I wouldn’t know that she lost her brother to suicide. I wouldn’t be there to comfort her when she visits their graves every year on their anniversaries, birthdays and holidays, something that you all don’t bother to do. I wouldn’t know that she prefers Cumberbatch as Sherlock Holmes, but Jude Law as John Watson. I wouldn’t know that she loves fictional medical shows, but hates the non-fictional. I wouldn’t know that her nose twitches when she is stressed, that she hates shopping for anything but books and will refuse to sleep until she has finished the entire bloody thing in one sitting.” He takes a deep breath. “I wouldn’t be the person I am today if I didn’t know Y/N. She saved me from so much and I saved her. We are a team, we love each other, isn’t that something worth celebrating instead of focusing on fictional negatives?”

“You are a wonderful partner.” Your mother grins from across the table.

“Yes.” Your grandmother agrees. “Perfect for Julie, don’t you think?” Crowley makes a move to do something, something that you know would make you regret even asking him to begin with and that would alert your mother that he was, in fact, not human.

“Babe, why don’t we go get a drink from the kitchen?” You make a move to stand. “C’mon, I’ll find you the Craig.”

“Knew there was a reason I loved you.” He teases.

“And here I thought it was because I was smoking hot.” You smile back at him as he stands, reaching for your hand automatically. “We’ll be back, just give us a minute.”

“I’ll come with you.” Your mother announces, also standing. “I’m also rather parched.” You nod and wait for her to catch up as you head inside the house, all of you smiling as you see the children playing in the snow with the dogs, Marie pouting in the corner and Samuel watching over them all with a stern yet calm look upon his face. Opening the door, Crowley allows your mother and yourself in first before shutting the door quietly behind you.

“What do you want to say, Nona?” You ask as you lead them both into the kitchen, grabbing Crowley a glass and a bottle of Craig, handing it to him to pour himself as you set it upon yourself to find a bottle of Rekorderlig Cider for yourself and a Pinot Noir for your mother.

“Fergus, could you leave us alone for just a few moments?” Your mother asks sweetly. He cocks his head over to you in question. You nod as a way of telling him it’ll be fine. He grins and walks out into the other room, closing the door behind out.

Your sixty-two-year-old, five-foot-one adoptive mother jumped up and down and squealed. Biting your lip, you look at her, trying to hide your smile. “He is a keeper!” She whispers excitedly as you pour her a generous drink. “Handsome and protective and such as way with words.”

“And the accent.” You added. “And that’s him pissed. You should hear him when he is calm. Normally insults. I love it when he calls dem-  _people_  chits and stupid, short-sighted, little prats. Makes me giggle.” You both giggle lightly. “But yes, he is wonderful. Four years down the track and he hasn’t changed.”

“You living together?” You shake your head. “Looked at rings?” Another shake. “Talked about children?” Shake. “Better get a move on girl.” The look on your face speaks a thousand words. “Don’t say girl again?” With that you both loose it before Crowley comes storming in, wiping the back of his mouth, mumbling about  _‘bloody women’_. Your mother looks at you with a smile before accepting her drink and walking away.

Crowley storms up to you, dropping his glass and the bottle on the bench before slamming his lips onto yours, hands meeting your hips and forcing you to step back until you hit the edge of the bench. Your arms wrap themselves around his neck to bring him in closer. It’s all teeth and tongue, meaning one thing. He’s pissed. When he draws back, he seems somewhat more relaxed, but there is still a glint of anger in his eyes. “I told you not to come.” You whisper, licking your now swollen lips. His eyes dart down to them before returning to look into yours.

“I have only known them for five minutes and I hate them all.” He declares. “Do you know what your cousin just did?”

“Snogged the living daylights out of you and offered to show you the closest, largest bedroom?” You respond, pulling out a piece of paper with a number and a rather lude comment written on it. “Or was it the closest closet this time?” His eyes narrow.

“Darling, your family is the biggest bunch of twats I’ve ever met.” You laugh. “I’d rather be spending today with demons than being here.” You shrug.

“Yeah, well, I did warn you. It’s karma, hun, and she’s a bitch.” He glares at you. “Okay, something’s on your mind. Spit it out.” You order, taking a sip out of the massive bottle, enjoying the sweet and tangy taste of fermented fruit as it bursts in your mouth.

“That coma you were put in?” You hum, mentally preparing yourself for the next half of his question. “Was it self-induced?” You sigh and nod. “How many times?”

“Too many to count.” You smile up at him. “I haven’t attempted anything in nearly five and a half years though.” To him, that wasn’t good enough.

“Why did she bring it up so calmly?” You can see he is splitting at the seams with anger, his body visibly shaking.

“To scare you off, to hurt me, I don’t know.” You shrug. “I doubt that she has any empathy left. If it was Julie, she wouldn’t of brought it up. Same with the age difference. Once she brought someone who was twenty years her senior, and everyone just acted like it was perfectly normal. I’m just not the favourite one, sweetie.”

“You’re my favourite one.” He swears, bringing you in for another kiss. “And I won’t leave you.”

“If you do, I’ll gank your arse.” You promise with a small grin. Silence ticks over you as he moves to hold you close, his grip tight as if he was scared that you’d slip away if he held you too loose.

“The self harm?”

“Wasn’t as bad as she made it seem.” You assure him.

He raises an eyebrow. “If you were hurting yourself, luv, then there is no overdramatisation.” You ignore this comment in favour of just taking in your boyfriend. “So, you enjoy my insults?” You laugh.

“I enjoy the originality of them, yes.” You answer, leaning back to look up at him. “But you can’t say a thing in front of my family.” His smile turns into a pout. “It’s just another three hours, you can handle it.

 

**()()()()()()**

 

As it turns out, he can’t.

Twenty-five minutes later, you were all sitting around the fireplace with the large pile of presents set in front of Marie, who looks at all of them with glazed eyes. The other children all have wobbling lips, knowing what was to come. The pups were by your and Crowley’s feet. You look over to your smirking cousin, who winks at Crowley and manages to make her boobs  _just_  stay in her shirt. His hold on you tightens as he pulls you closer until you were practically off the arm of the loveseat and in his lap.

Crowley taps your hand and you lower your head until your ear was near his lips so he could whisper. “What’s going on?”

Marie starts to open the first present, labelled ‘Joannie’. “She unwraps the presents and decides who gets to keep them.” You explain quietly, squeezing his shoulder gently. “Just wait until the end, then we can talk about what we can do.” He looks at you when you move your head back and nods.

The box contains a bunch of notebooks, pens, pencils and an artpad, something she had been looking forward to all year. Your fifteen-year-old cousin perks up when she sees the contents and eight-year-old Marie simply glares before declaring it as hers. You swallow, already knowing the outcome.

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later there was twenty kids on the verge of tears, one very happy eight-year-old with a shit ton of presents, an angry you and a very, very, very pissed off Crowley. You excuse yourself as Marie’s parents start to move her stash of presents into the car. Crowley, not comfortable being in the room with your cousin, who had now moved on to more drastic measures to convince him to sleep with her, moved into the kitchen with you as you poured yourself another drink.

“I promise that you’ll never come here again pet. And that your family will never see heaven.” You giggle.

“D’aww, is the big, bad King of Hell feeling sorry for some iddy, biddy human babies?” You tease. “It’s revenge because I wouldn’t let her take care of the puppies.” You inform him. “I’ll figure something out so the kids don’t miss out.” You pat his shoulder gently as you grab your glass and drown it. “Don’t worry about the next bit.” You look up at him. His head cocks to the side in confusion. “Just…know that the pups were enough.” This makes him even more confused as you pour yourself another drink and lead him back to you seat. Crowley growls in frustration when he sees Julie sitting in your spot, patting the chair invitingly.

“She doesn’t know when to stop, does she?” His voice grumbles before his eyes light up mischievously.

“No.” You turn to glare at him. “Touch my cousin, I’ll chop off your d-”

“Okay, kiddies. Outside now!” Your mother ushers everyone out and the pups perk up, trotting over to comfort the nearly-in-tears children and growling whenever Marie got too close. Crowley leads you to the now-empty space near the fireplace, sitting behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you closer behind him. The cold, stone-tiled floors freezes your butt, but it is well worth it when you see Julie’s death glare and feel the chuckling of your boyfriend. And, let’s face it, anything is worth being held in his arms.

Your grandmother moves to the centre, where a large armchair now resides. Crowley looks at you as you shuffle in closer to him, prepared for yet another year where you get nothing, no love from your extended family, no care, no positive attention, no presents. Not that Crowley knows about that last part just yet. Your grandmother moves for the smallest box that is labelled for you. “Y/N.” She states, opening the box to produce the set of simple, gold hoop earrings you had been pinning for since November. “Give these to Julie, would you?” Her smile is sickle sweet and Julie’s is even worse. Crowley frowns as you do what she asks. Your cousin grins victoriously as she snatches them and quickly puts them on, making sure everyone ooed and aahhed at them before settling back down.

This continued for the next thirty minutes, everything that you had wanted and asked for, from books to jewelry to clothes to supplies for school, went to Julie, her sister and her mother. Crowley’s temper was getting worse and worse with each present. He looks down at you as you shrug. “The pups were enough.” You whisper when it comes down to the final five presents. “Mum and I do a little something at the end anyway.” You try to reassure him. You feel his hand shift away from you momentarily. You swear you hear the dullest of clicks before it returns back to your waist, now calmer than before. You shrug it off. You said no magic, therefore he wouldn’t perfo-

“Oh my God!”

Then again.

Everyone screams as a live snake hisses out of the box your grandmother was currently unwrapping. Crowley chuckles lightly into your shoulder as it slithers outside the house. “The children!” Marie’s parents run out the door to collect the children who are playing outside.

“Julie!” Your grandmother shouts as she reads the tag. “What is the meaning of this?!”

“It’s sa-sa-supposed to be a-a pile of b-b-books.” She stammers out. You and Crowley are shaking, barely containing your laughter. Your mother looks over at you with a raised eyebrow, which sobers you up instantly.

“Looks like we’ve been caught, luv.” He murmurs into your ear, noticing the amused looks your mother sends to you. “Shall we pack up?” You nod, knowing that there is no way Christmas would continue after this little scary (i.e.  _amusing as fuck_ ) act.

Standing, you don’t even bother with goodbyes as you simply walk out the door, head held high. Marie’s parents come running towards you, the snake now long gone. “Y/N, there must be something wrong with your dogs.” They state, panic now flushed out of their systems. “They won’t go near Marie and when she goes towards them-”

“-they growl?” Crowley asks. They both nod, happy that someone might understand their problem.

“But they let those filthy, disgusting-”

“-amazing, unique young children who are being moulded by every word you say?” You finish, your voice dripping with venomous honey. “I’m not going to apologise for my pups good judge of character.” You grin as their smiles slowly begin to drop. “I might have been submissive and allowed you all to treat me like shit, but I’m sure as hell not going to allow you to do that to those children.” You turn to Crowley. “Go get the dogs in the car, would you darling?” He kisses your cheek before leaving to round up the pups, allowing the children to say goodbye before moving them quickly into your car. “Marie isn’t special. She is a manipulative, horrid little girl who believes that everything should be handed to her on a silver platter. I don’t know  **why**  everyone things she is the perfect child, but it is causing more harm than good.” You hold up your hand when they open their mouths to butt in, showing that you were far from finished. “She gets D- because you have taught her not to try, she has no friends because she believes that she should be the one who everyone bows down to, she throws tantrums in supermarkets, at bedtime, at dinnertime because you have showed her that if she cries hard enough, she’ll get what she wants. She refuses to treat you with respect and is allowed to dictate your lives because you have told her that she can do it. None of the children like her because she doesn’t let them get anything, it all belongs to her. No, not anymore.” You ignore your grandmother moving in as you continue to rant, her face darkening with every word. “Just because you, Marie, Julie, all of the Golden Group are favoured does not give you the right to treat the rest of us like shit. Julie has no right to swoop in and try to take my boyfriend, especially when he made it clear he wasn’t interested in her slutty manner! You have no right to tell me that I am useless and stupid! You have no right to bring up my past! You have no right to dictate what I can and cannot do. I will not be you and you will not be my Maries.” You click your jaw. “I am sick and tired of being the butt of everyone’s jokes. If I come back to see any of you at any stage in the future, just remember that it’s because I love the children and I’m going to check to see if you bothered to make any changes, if you bothered to let them know they are worth every fucking moment of your poor, pathetic, dependent lives.” Silence rickets over all of you before-

“Don’t bother coming back, you disgrace of a girl.”

Your grandmother’s words pierce at your heart. Yes, you didn’t agree with her ways and yes, there were times you hated her actions, but you still loved her.

Instead of giving her the satisfaction of crying or begging, you look at her in the eye before saying your final words.

“You don’t control what I do.”

You spin on the balls of your heels before marching towards your car. All of your younger cousins, save for Marie who is crying pathetically to her parents, rush forward to give you a hug. Samuel waits in the background before moving forward to give you something small.

 _‘Later,’_  he signs,  _‘open it later.’_  You nod and kiss his forehead, grateful that he doesn’t stiffen or throw a tantrum at the sudden contact between the two of you. Sliding into the passengers seat, Grinch climbs onto your lap as the other five pups sit in the backseat.

“Home?” Crowley asks, starting up the engine.

“Home.” You both jump at the voice in the back, both turning to see a highly amused woman. “We have some talking to do.”

 

**()()()()()()()**

 

“So, lemme get this straight,” your mother starts, “you are the granddaughter of a witch, who promised to never get involved with witchcraft,” Crowley laughs at that as you glare at him. You would never tell your mother all the times you were forced into using magic, “and you are now dating the King of Hell, who incidentally is a son of a witch, uses magic and used magic to replace the books Julie bought with an open snake cage?” You hum and nod.

“That about sums it up.” You agree as Crowley hums, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for the light to turn green.

“The King of Hell is sitting next to my daughter, holding her hand and driving around London?” You both nod. “Bloody hell, Y/N, you don’t do things by halves, now do you?” Crowley laughs as you sigh.

“No, Nona.” You agree.

“So,” she starts off as you start to pull onto your mother’s street, “thought about children yet?” The car stops suddenly.

“What?” You both shout, turning around to look at her. She calmly strokes the now-frightened pup (was it Montague?) while the rest cower at her feet at the sound outburst of noise.

“Well, as a grandmother wanting great-grandchildren-”

“Nona, we can’t have children.” You start off with. Her eyebrows knit together in confusion. “It’d be a Cambion, an Antichrist.”

“The pregnancy could kill Y/N.” Crowley starts with. “And if that doesn’t, any temper tantrum thrown by it could.”

“But you are both so good with children-” She starts off with.

“Then we’ll adopt once we are married.”

You both turn to look at Crowley.

“Once?” You raise an eyebrow at him, knowing exactly what that starry look in his eye meant. “Listen here, bucko, we are going to have a conversation about planning a wedding to your girlfriend before you’ve even asked the said-girlfriend.”

Your mother smiles gleefully. “Ah, young love. Good luck, Fergus.”

“Have a good evening, ma’am.” He farewells as she slides out of the car.

“Don’t be a stranger now.” Your mother tells you firmly. “Call, if you need anything at all.”

You grin. “G’night Nona.” The door slams shut and you move your head to glare at Crowley. “Wedding bells a-ringin’ in your ear, my love?” He cringes.

“Sorry, pet, I didn’t mean to imply-”

“You handle my mother when she starts sending me invite design ideas.” You settle, leaning back into your chair. “I, on the other hand, need a drink. Let’s go home.”

 

**()()()()()()()**

 

The ride home was done in silence, save for the few quiet whimpers from the pups when Crowley speeds up too quickly for their liking or jostles the car over a speed bump. Both of you are thinking. You about tomorrow, organising everything and the fact you’ll be fighting a losing battle with your mother after Crowley’s (hopefully) sarcastic comment. He was…well, God knows what he was planning. Hopefully it didn’t involve the death of your family.

Pulling up to your street, the pups’ spells where quickly removed and the now-invisible balls of fur are quickly ushered upstairs and into your apartment by Crowley as you grab the little that you came back with. Trudging up the stairs, you slide yourself through the narrow crack of your door and slam the door shut behind you with your foot. You drop the plates into the empty sink before moving your way into your bedroom.

“Tired, pet?” He asks as he appears in the doorway. You nod as he moves closer to the bed, settling in beside you. “It’s barely past three, luv.” Shrugging, you nestle yourself closer to his warm body.

“Family tires me, hun.” You explain as his arm wraps around you. “I just need a lay down.”

You feel Crowley nodding as he pulls you in closer. “Why do you put up with that?”

“Christmas?” You ask, again feeling him nod. “Because every New Year’s, all those who have been left out get to go out for lunch with me and Nona and they all get New Year presents instead.” You can feel the confusion rolling off him. “I spent nearly four hundred dollars on the kids Christmas presents. I’ll spend an average of two hundred dollars per kid for New Year’s.”

“How on Earth do you afford that?”

“Originally, I’d hack into Grandmother’s banking account and steal half-to-three-quarters of the money off her. But for the past three years?” You trail off, a smirk playing on your features. “Hell’s been funding the presents.” Crowley snorts.

“I did wonder why my demons spent four thousand dollars at  _Toys ‘R’ Us_.” He muses as you laugh into his arm, the image of unnamed and faceless demons wandering around in a  _Toys ‘R’ Us_  store, hopeless lost but overly enthusiastic of all the toys and dolls around them seemed to be overly amusing to you.

“I love you, Crowley.” You sigh happily. “Especially when you went all ranty and affectionate at my family. And how you managed to shoot down Julie.”

“I love you too, darling.” He responds, kissing your forehead gently.

You sigh. “You did come.” You get up to look at him. “And I did promise.”

Crowley grins before pulling you in for a deep kiss, nibbling at your lip until you grant him access. Opening your mouth slowly, you move your legs so you could straddle his lap. He runs his hands up and down your side before grabbing it at the hem, tugging gently.

“Mind?” He pulls back his lips until it is barely brushing your puffy, red lips, asking permission before ripping your favourite shirt.

“Buttons, you bastard.” You murmur before reaching in to kiss him again. “Make me feel like a lady, a queen, not some cheap skank you found at the corner pub.”

You squeal as he flips you both over, him now caging you against the bed, trapping you with his thighs and forearms. “My Queen asks,” he starts, his hands moving to grab two ends of the shirts, pulling until the buttons pop off one by one, “my Queen shall have.”

“You’re sewing them back on, bucko.” You warn. “That’s my favourite shirt!”

“I prefer you like this.” You roll your eyes as he looks at your now bra-clad torso, eyes glazed slightly. “Much better.”

“And cold.” You whine. “Warm me up, love.” You grin cheekily up at him as you pull him in close for another kiss, your hands moving to peel off the Doctor Who shirt you bought him as a gag gift for watching his first season. Instantly, you go to grip his shoulders, fingers flaring against his body art. “That never ceases to be sexy.” You whisper as he chuckles from above you.

“Neither do you, pet.” He leans down to kiss you before trailing his lips down your cheek to suck and nibble at your jawline, his hands moving behind you, causing you to arch your back into him so he can unclasp and remove your bra. You shiver at the sudden lack of clothing as he throws the offending piece of cloth behind him, his mouth moving down to latch itself on your nipple, sucking firmly and strongly. You whine as he tugs at your jeans, pulling them down slowly, somehow managing to unbutton and unzip them without your noticing.

“What do you want, luv?” He asks before leaning in to trap the abused nipple between his teeth, bringing it back slightly before letting go.

“I don’t know!” You buck your hips in an attempt to get him to remove your panties as he throws the jeans in the opposite direction to your bra. “Something!”

“Anything?”

“As long as it doesn’t break me.” You warn. The wicked grin causes your stomach to turn into snakes, twisting and turning. Without any further warning, he grabs the last piece of fabric with his teeth and rips them off unceremoniously, leaving them to dangle from his teeth.

Chucking them over his head, he pulls your thighs to his shoulders as he slowly starts to kiss down your inner thigh, skipping over raised white lines before nuzzling your hip. Looking down at him, you frown. “C’mon then!”

“What are these, Y/N?” He asks. You swallow.

“Stretch marks.” You say, deciding to stay with the same lie you have told him since the first time he went down on you. He tuts, his fingers striking hard and fast against your outer thigh, causing a loud ‘smack’ to be echoed around the room.

“Truth, or I’ll leave you hanging on the edge for weeks to come.” He growls out his promise, causing heat to pool in your stomach.

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” You tease before he chuckles lightly. “They are stretch marks.” You yelp at the sudden slap. “What?! It’s the truth!” You insist as he strokes the now reddened area.

“Luv, what is that saying you so often quote to the boys? Fool me once, shame on you?”

“Fool me twice, shame on me.” You finish as he starts to stroke the damaged skin.

“I will not be fooled twice. So, for the last time,” his voice has darkened, his tone filled with dangerous promise, “What are these?” You mumble something too quietly for Crowley to hear. “Come again, pet?”

You take in a deep breath before answering louder. “Scars.” He growls. “They’re twelve years old!” You rush to say, trying to assure him. “Old, old scars, Crowley.” This doesn’t do anything to calm him.

“Why would you mark such beauty?” He demands. “Would you paint over an already completed masterpiece? Would you damage a piece of art?”

“I am no Mona Lisa.” You respond gently.

“No,” he agrees, “you are much more beautiful.” You groan as he slowly starts to insert his finger into your core, his tongue moving forward to flick at your clit. You feel yourself getting wetter as he slowly introduces a second finger, pumping them slowly in and out of you. Your hips start to grind down against them, trying to get more friction. “You do know that, don’t you? That you’re beautiful?” You shake your head, your hips gaining speed. “Stunning, actually.” He grins as he rests his other hand on your hip, pushing you down on the bed. You groan out in frustration. “Say it.”

“Move your fucking fingers or I’ll fucking exorcise you.” You hiss out, your hips refusing to move as he moves his hand down to flick your clit.

“You are so adorable when you threaten me like that.” He teases, kissing your thigh before repeating, “Say it.”

“Move?” He shakes his head. “Please?” Anther shake. “Sir?” He lets out a breath of a laugh before shaking his head.

“C’mon, luv.” He murmurs before flicking your clit again before pinching it gently. “Three little words.”

“I love you?”

“The other three.”

“Yaba, daba doo?”

“ _Y/N_.”

“I am stunning.” You finally whisper, the words feeling foreign and uncomfortable on your tongue.

“Stunning, beautiful, sexy as sin.” He lists, kissing your thigh again. “Someday, those words will flow fluently from your lips.”

Then, he latches onto your clit, sucking harshly, nibbling gently and licking and flicking in between the two actions, a third finger wiggling in with the other two as he starts to pump again at a furious pace, stretching you out for what was to come.

You couldn’t move, your thighs were trapped by his head as he moved away to blow at the heated area before returning to its previous ministrations, your hands trapped by your sides and your body frozen on the bed. The only form of movement was the movement of your chest with your heavy breathing and your teeth biting down firmly on your lower lip in an attempt to mute all sounds.

Heat coils in your lower stomach, your walls begin to tighten around his fingers and your muscles tighten in antici-

Crowley pulls back before you have the chance to fall over that wonderful edge. “Crowley!” You shout in anger as he moves up your body, lips ghosting over your skin as he peels off his pants.

“Oh pet, they are not worthy of your time.” He whispers, kissing the underside of your breast lovingly. “You amazing girl, the girl who changed me completely.” You whimper as you feel him prod against your entrance. The words are lovely, but some action would be-

“Oh, God, oh God!” You groan loudly at the sudden intrusion.

-lovely.

“Luv, I appreciate the sentiment,” Crowley growls out as he starts a gently and slow pace, “but, please, keep Him out of the bedroom. I am a demon, not an angel.”

“Crowley, please.” You whine, not getting enough from his gentle and small rotations of his hips. “I need- I need!” He grins before leaning into to graze his lips against you ear.

“You need what, my love? Slow and sensual?” His grinding slows down even more, causing you to moan in frustration. “Gentle and soft?” He stops, full seated inside of you, causing you to burst out in frustration as his hand leaves it’s place to rest against you hip. “Or perhaps,” he slowly begins to remove himself until only his tip remains inside of you, “you want hard,” with that, he trusts back in at full force, causing the bed to hit the wall as he pulls out to thrust back in again, this time the speed is quicker, “and fast?” You groan as his hand moves back down to play with your clit, pinching and rolling as you grind your hips against his with every second or third thrust, unable to keep up with his non-human pace.

“Crowley, Crowley, please, please.” You beg as your legs move from their place at his hips to his shoulders, changing the angel so with every thrust, he hits that sweet spot inside of you. “F-f-f-faster!” You groan as he increases his speed. The plaster behind the bed frame begins to crack, but you don’t pay any attention to that. All you can feel is the burn of your thighs as Crowley slowly forces your legs to be by your shoulders, nearly folding you in half as he continues to slam himself into you with speed and strength that you know that no human would ever be able to please you the way he can.

The heat bubbles and boils in the pit of your stomach as you reach the edge of the cliff. You feel out of breath, voice beginning to go hoarse with all the screaming, moaning and groaning you had been doing. His fingers don’t let up the rough play with your clit as you buck your hips up against his rhythm. Your muscles tremble in anticipation as you draw closer and closer to your climax. It isn’t until Crowley latches himself against the junction of your neck and sucks harshly, the one spot that always seems to draw you over the edge, do you scream a final time, his name echoing throughout your apartment as you clench down on him, body shaking as you arch yourself against his body. His fingers slowly remove themselves from you clit as he moves to kiss you firmly, his hips stilling as he empties himself inside of you. Finally, he rolls over to the side, slowly pulling his now-flaccid member out of you, causing you to groan in mild pain. He helps you lower your legs before pulling you in for a close hug.

“Did you mean it?” You whisper as you slowly start to feel the slight pain from his desired roughness.

“Always, pet.”

“Merry Christmas, Crowley.” You murmur into his tattooed skin.

“Merry Christmas, poppet.”


	15. Day 13 - Dinner At Bobby's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: Established relationship with Crowley, possible OOCness, and smut (riding).
> 
> Word Count: 5, 217 words
> 
> Prompt: A Christmas dinner at Bobby’s leads to Crowley seeking reward.

“C’mon Crowley!” You shout, grabbing your bag and kissing Jaydan goodbye. “Thanks, Jay. We’ll be back later, about six, seven tomorrow morning.” He sighs and looks at the six pups. “I made you fudge and frozen cookie dough ice-cream sandwiches.” You offer as a peace treaty, smiling as his face lights up. “Use the spare bed, dogs are to be locked up in the study when you go to bed, let out if they start to scratch the door. No loud noises after two, otherwise the cops will be called by the lady downstairs.” He nods. “Besides that, you have my number and feel free to have anything-”

“-besides the Craig.” Crowley warns from behind out, walking up to kiss your cheek softly. “Hello darling.” You turn to see your beloved boyfriend dressed in his power suit, causing you to roll your eyes.

“We’re going to Bobby’s, not the Ritz.” He glares at you as he tugs down his vest.

“I think he looks ravishing.”

“You think anything with a penis looks ravishing, Jay.” You retort, trying your best not to grin as Crowley puffs up proud like a peacock but deflates just a quickly at your comment. “But yes, he does look….amazingly hot.” He perks up again.

“Ready for the jetlag, Y/N?” Jaydan teases as Crowley puts his hands on your shoulders.

“Bitch please.” You tease. “As if I’d get jetlagged.” You both smile at each other before saying your goodbyes. With a single nod, Crowley transports you from your home in London to the bottom of Singer’s Salvage Yard in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

 

**()()()()()()**

 

Transporting with a demon was an interesting experience. With an angel, if you were brave enough to keep your eyes open and weren’t so overwhelmed or sick from the extremely fast movement, you’d be able to see nothing but blurred colours surrounding you and hear nothing but small, rushing murmurs of sound. Possibly if you paid close enough attention, the outlines of their wings or even, if you were extremely lucky, their wings in their entirety. It would be sudden, no longer than ten seconds tops. Normally, it ended with dizzy spells or nausea. But transportation with a demon was something very, very different.

To begin with, demons don’t fly. They don’t have wings. Second of all, it wasn’t sudden, it wasn’t quick in comparison to angelic flight. On average, it would take you thirty to forty seconds to travel from London to South Dakota with Crowley. There wasn’t blurred colours or rushing sounds. It was a bright, dark coloured light, flashing from crimson red to black at incredible speeds. There was silence, nothing but hearts pounding and heavy breathing.

Truth be told, you preferred demonic transportation over angelic flight, even if it did give you a killer of a headache, loss of balance and the feeling that your stomach had been turned inside out, upside down and twisted into a neat little ball, simply because it was more intimate. Sure, angels could make their flight more intimate, but it didn’t need to be. The amount of skin on skin contact needed was minimal. Balthazar, Gabriel, even Cas, had taken you to various parts of the world when they deemed it necessary to annoy or freak out your boyfriend, but they did so by simply brushing their hand against yours. Crowley, on the other hand, would need as much physical contact as possible. Whether that was just him or all demons you didn’t know, but you knew that demons had to at least have a firm hold on their passengers.

This was Crowley’s favourite position to transport with, your back against his chest as his arms wrap around your waist possessively. His face buried in your hair, regardless if it was up with a fancy pin or down in a recently untangled and tamed mess. His fingers always clamped down onto your hips, sometimes leaving marks, sometimes not. He’d always make sure the whole of your back was pressed against his front in some way. ‘The more contact, the less likely I’m to lose you somewhere’, he had informed you. Dean and Sam tried to call this bullshit, but the one time a lower demon had to transport you from your house to Crowley’s safe house for you (yes, Crowley bought a house in case he ever thought you were in danger), he almost lost you around the Amazon Forest because he only allowed minimal contact between the two of you.

You loved demonic transportation between you and Crowley because you could also see his soul. Yes, he claimed not to have a soul, others told you that demons were soulless, but they were all wrong. Demons were just damaged souls inside vessels, because that’s all they were really. Souls tortured beyond repair. Crowley’s soul was a beautiful, dark ruby colour that shone like no gem you’d ever seen. It wasn’t round, nor square. In fact, it didn’t really have a shape. Just a shining, moving blob in the middle of an empty vessel, controlling it like a pilot flying a plane, or a captain commanding a ship. You could only see it when you were transporting or the very, very few times he allowed his eyes to flash red. You found it rather sexy, he found it rather…embarrassing, for a lack of a better word. He didn’t like what he was forced to become, but at the same time he loved it, just as much as you loved viewing his soul, his demonic version of angelic grace.

You, of course, made the mistake of telling him that you loved to view his soul when you transported. Your first argument was about how he did have a soul, and it was beautiful, no matter what anyone else said. After that, you faced the other way when travelling. He assured you it wasn’t because of the argument, but deep down you had a nagging feeling that it was the reason and hoped that one day, he’d allow you to face him when transporting.

This time, however, was no different. Back against his formally dressed chest, arms wrapped tightly, possessively around you as the bright, dark crimson colour flashed from red to black rapidly. Your hair dances around you lightly, the small breeze created causing the skirts of your cream-coloured dress to flutter around your knees. You don’t bother counting, you just take in the dark beauty of it, hearing nothing but your heart beating heavily and your breathing, calm and deep. To begin with, it freaked you out and brought you to the beginning stages of hyperventilation. Crowley calmed you down afterwards and, until that soul comment, allowed you to face him.

You are pulled out of your thoughts as your feet touch ground, your sandals already collecting small pieces of dirt that creep their way in-between your toes. Crowley sighs against the nape of your neck before you step to his side, grasping his hand tightly. “It’s just dinner.”

“In case you didn’t know, luv, your brothers aren’t my biggest fans, nor Robert.” You grin as he mumbles. “I could go and take care of the mutts?” You laugh.

“No, hun,” you boop his noise, to your amusement and his pique, “you’re stuck putting up with the men that love me so much, they won’t mention the time you took one of their souls and made the other two’s lives hell.” His noise crinkles as you smirk, kissing him softly before slowly pulling him up the drive. “C’mon, the sooner we get there, the sooner we leave.”

The walk to Bobby’s, in Crowley’s voiced opinion, was way to sort. Apparently it could have used another stretch of drive, about five or six miles long. But for you, it was too long. Dropping your bag to the ground, you rush up to give your surrogate father a hug, leaving Crowley to pick up the presents and trudge his way up behind you. “Bobby! My God, it’s been too long, old man!” You tease, pulling him in for a hug.

“Oi! Watch who your calling old, idjit!” He teases back, hugging you just as tight. “Your f-  _boyfriend_  is a lot older than I am.” You can feel the glare Crowley is sending Bobby.

“Robert.” Came his greeting as you step back, his hand now resting on your upper back. Bobby looks at the hand, daring it to move lower.

“Fergus.” He finally greets, causing you both to raise an eyebrow.

“Really? It’s Christmas, could you please not start?” You whine, pouting at the two of them, causing them both to chuckle. “Seriously, one time, I wish you would agree on something else besides my failure of a pout!” You huff, snatching the bag from him and sliding into the house.

“Y/N!” You hear Dean call from the kitchen! Putting the bag down, you peak your head around the corner to get pulled in for a massive bear hug. Dean picks you up and twirls you around, causing you to squeal. “God, YN/N, what’s it been?”

“A month.” You pull back, trying to pull your unamused face. “Put me down, Fuckwit.” Smirking, Dean simply throws you over his shoulder, hand on your lower back so you can’t raise your upper half in some attempt to remove yourself from his hold.

“Oi! Crowley!” He calls out as he makes his way up to the spare room. “Gonna steal your Queen for a little while!”

Somewhere from inside the house, you can hear Crowley’s growl. Rolling your eyes, you start to hit Dean’s back. “Dean-o, I don’t know how much Crowler’s has told you about our bedroom activities,” you feel Dean stiffen beneath you from what you assume is disgust about you discussing your sex life, “but never, ever will we re-enact it in the bedroom.” Dean stops at the door of the spare room, putting you safely on the ground before staring at you.

“What?” Dean asks as you try to keep a straight face.

“I mean, after Crowley, I don’t really think I could cheat. Nothing would feel big enough, and no one would be able to make me c-”

“Alright! Sammy!” Dean pounds on the door to shut you up, his face red and screwed up in disgust, causing you to cackle. The door swings open to show the 6’4” frame of your half-asleep brother.

“Bear! What happened to your arm?!” Is the first thing you shout when you see the white sling cradling his dominant arm to his chest.

“Wendigo hunt gone wrong.” He shrugs with a tight-lipped smile. “Hey Turtle.” You shrug off the affectionate childhood nickname, just as he did yours, as you pull him in for a hug, careful of his injury.

“How bad is it?” You inquire as the three of you start to walk back towards the living room.

“Not  _that_  bad,” Sam is quick to assure, “just some scarring.”

“He might not be able to use that arm again.” Dean helpfully provides as Crowley and Bobby come into view, the two of them talking over something in hushed tones.

“Bear!” You look up at him in shock. “You can’t just not tell me this!”

“It’s no big deal, Y/N. Besides, we should be cel-” Dean quickly jumps in.

“He chickened out.”

“He chickened out?” Sam repeats, turning to look at Crowley. “You chickened out?”

“What did he chicken out of?” You ask, looking between them.

“I didn’t chicken out.” He retorts. “There were complications.”

“What complications?” Your head is wiping wildly between the four boys, trying to get an answer.

“Complications, my arse.” Dean responds. “He totally chickened out.”

“He didn’t chicken out, ya idgit.” Bobby steps in to defend Crowley, still leaving you completely confused and in the dark.

“You defending this bastard, Bobby?” Sam interjects. “He  _clearly_  doesn’t have the b-”

“I can ensure you, I do, Moose.” Crowley growls out. “And I have plan, don’t worry your antlers off.” You roll your eyes.

“Oi! I know you aren’t deaf, and I know I’m not invisible, so someone tell me what’s going on here! What did he chicken out of?! What complications?! What plan>!”

“Don’t worry, pet.” Crowley steps in, glaring at the two grinning boys. “It’s all sorted out.” Looking between the four of them, you narrow your eyes.

“The four of you working together? Keeping secrets from me?” You raise an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m so not gonna worry.” Bobby sighs before throwing you a beer.

“Just enjoy it while it’s happen’.” You wrinkle your nose as you look down at the beer. “Shut it and drink it.” Came his warning before turning back into the kitchen. Crowley comes to stand next to you.

“You brought my cider?” He nods as you open the beer. “I’ll drink it later.”

**()()()()()()**

Curiously enough, the boys didn’t fight for the entire evening. You expected there to be at least one fire up between the four of them. Sure, Dean and Sam took Crowley aside at some point during the evening, leading to a very upset Crowley practically storming out of the kitchen, an amused Dean and a very pleased and healed Sam. But, besides that (and Crowley soon calmed down once he realised he was acting like a four-year-old), everything ran smoothly. Dean and Bobby made dinner, you teased them about becoming house-husbands, insulted their cooking and their poor choices of alcohol in-between sips of your chosen cider. Sam quickly assured the two men that their dinner was actually quite nice, and Crowley just sat back and watched the interactions between sips of Craig and the very few bites you told him he was required to eat. Then, after a few more beers/ciders/whiskeys and a couple of bread rolls thrown between you and Dean, you all went into the living room to exchange presents. In all honesty, seeing the boys and Bobby was present enough. Ever since moving back to England twelve years ago after a six-month break, you found that you missed the boys a lot more than you did when you made your yearly visits that normally last a month. But, Bobby and Dean insisted that you continued this ‘family tradition’. Sam and you always retorted that the ‘family tradition’ was to steal presents from under family Christmas Trees and pray that they were for the correct gender. Crowley always laughed at that.

You got Sam a set of books he’d been dying to get, along with a demon-angel hunting knife and bullets you had fashioned yourself, with a little help from Crowley and a promise from Sam and Dean that they wouldn’t use it on your boyfriend or any demon he sent their way to deliver a message. Dean received a large collection of 80’s rock cassettes. He commented that it was more a present for Sam than him, making sure he mentioned the fact that his younger bigger brother complained bitterly about his selected choice in music, until he reached the very bottom. Yes, it may have cost you your arm and leg (almost quiet literally) but you managed to get a Walkman (yes, a Walkman. But you think they’re cool, anyone who thinks otherwise can suck it) and a CD with three tracks. The first is of Mary Winchester singing  _‘Hey Jude’_ , the second was of Sam, himself and yourself singing a mash of 80’s rock, something you all did quite regularly on your visits over. The last one was your own cover of  _‘Carry On My Wayward Son’_ , something you used to sing to him after his time in Hell. He’d even ring you up in the middle of a working day or the middle of the night to get you to sing it to him. Finally, Bobby received a box of rare and international ingredients, weapons and books, the only thing he had requested when you called six weeks ago.

Crowley was pleased because you actually got something from the boys. You almost gave the presents back once you found out that they had spent all year saving for it. A collection of books signed by their authors from Dean (who bought them all with his own money and travelled around half the country to get their signatures), a new laptop from Sam (again, with his own money) and a new set of throwing knives and a bow and a quiver filled with arrows from Bobby. Crowley simply looked at you, amused at the gift choices.

The boys even got something for Crowley. A selection of ‘fine’ whiskeys from Bobby (something that Crowley would call ‘acid’ or ‘motor oil’ if it wasn’t for the amused looks he got from the boys and the warning glare he got from you) and a bunch of homemade ‘get out of being ganked’ free cards from Dean and Sam, which ended up with you trying your best to hold in your laughter as Crowley pocketed them safely, claiming that someday it might be the only reason he comes home.

The rest of the evening was spent drinking and sharing stories, mostly hunting stories from your host and two brothers in order for you to catch up on events since your last visit. Finally, Bobby called it a night and kicked all of you out. Wandering with the boys to the Impala after you all said goodbye to your surrogate father, you continued to chat with Dean as Crowley and Sam talked a few paces behind you. You try to listen in, but could only pick up the words ‘Moose’, ‘try’ and ‘venison’. Rolling your eyes, you continue your chat with Dean about which car would win a drag race, the Impala or your little black and white Camaro that is currently residing in your Nona’s garage. Reaching the beloved black car, you give Dean and Sam a massive hug each before bidding them goodnight and until next year. Crowley steps forward to grab your waist with his hands and soon, you were teleporting again.

The landing, however, was not nearly as graceful as the first. The amount you had to drink ended up with you landing flat on your arse, giggles bubbling from your mouth.

“Alright, c’mon poppet.” Crowley mutters, helping you up as he walks you to the bedroom.

“Dis ain’t my apartment.” You mumble sleepily as you stumble into the large, black and white themed bedroom with crimson red objects scattered throughout the impressive room. A large, wooden, four-poster bed was smack-bang in the centre, which is where Crowley was currently leading you now.

“No, luv, it’s not.” Crowley agrees, pushing you gently on the mattress, falling down next to you. “Here, darling.” His fingers come up to your temple, slowly draining the drunkenness from you, your brain slowly starting to pound against your temple. Your groan notifies Crowley of this, and with a quick ‘sorry poppet’, the pain fades into nothingness.

“Where are we?” You finally ask once your head clears of its fogginess.

“Adelaide, South Australia.” He moves in to kiss your lips softly, his fingers moving to tug at your skirt. “Thought we might stay here for a while.”

You kiss him back gently before grabbing his hands. “Crowley, hun, I love you and all that, but I’m really tired-” Suddenly, all drowsiness is gone. Crowley raises his eyebrow with a smirk as you glare. “-and you made me sober!” Crowley growls and flips himself over, until he has caged you against the mattress, hands reaching down to the hem of your dress.

“I’ve had to put up with those….prats all evening!” He growls as he starts to tear at the dress he made. “You may have the pleasure of being able to get drunk in their company, I, on the other hand, do not!” Your pupils dilate as lust starts to shudder through your body. “Don’t.” Another centimetre of fabric is ripped. “I.” Another centimetre. “Deserve.” Another. “A.’ And another. “Reward?” Finally, the tear is at your bust, leaving your entire lower half bare, save for the red-lace panties Crowley insisted you wore, even though it covered about the same as wearing nothing. You smirk.

“Something bothering you, baby?” You tease as he moves to open the bust of your dress. Growling once more, he flips you over to you are straddling his upper thighs, the dress flaring out beside you. That’s when you notice that the dress didn’t rip, more like separate. You smirk as he starts to move his hands up and down your thighs. “You’ve planned this, didn’t you hun?” You lean down to gently brush your lips against him in a not-quite kiss, teasing him. “Is that why you made my dress this way? White and pure? So you could-” you grind yourself against his hardening length, chuckling lowly as he groans, “make me dirty again?” His eyes flash as he looks up at you, the irises briefly turning red in the way that makes you shudder with want.

“Move up.” He order simply. Cocking your head to the side, you shift yourself up a little until you are at the base of his chest. He beckons you to move closer with his finger. You move again until your knees hit under his shoulders, but he continues to beckon. Realisation strikes through you.

“Nuh, uh.” You shake your head. “Crowley, we agreed, no, never.”

“C’mon, luv.” He grabs you by the crook of your knees and lifts you up until your barely-clothed crotch is hovering over his mouth. You squirm, uneasiness ripping through you, which causes his nose, which is resting just against your core, to bump against your clit, causing you to groan. “Just this once.” You shake your head, causing him to sigh. To you, doing this was dirty, disgusting.  _Whorish._  It didn’t feel right. Sure, rough and kinky was fun from time to time, but you could still feel the emotion behind it all. This, after previous experiences, felt….emotionless. Horrible.  _‘Cause, after all Y/N, you are the slut._ His voice causes you to shudder, but Crowley pulls you out of your disastrous dating history. “If you don’t like it, say ‘Winchester.’”

“Are we really using my brother’s surname as a safe word for vanilla sex?” You glare down at him. Pulling down your panties slightly, he nods as his eyes lock on to his ‘prize’. A loud ripping sound tells you that you’ve lost yet another pair of knickers as he ghosts his mouth against your lips, tongue barely touching your skin, but his hot breath causing you to shudder.

A sudden, vibrating feeling against your clit makes you arch up in surprise as Crowley thrusts his tongue into your wet, molten core. Long licks inside of your centre makes you buckle and unintentionally rotate your hips. The buzzing against your clit and ghost fingers feeling your skin everywhere, thrusting inside next to your tongue, running up and down your back, sides and arms, squeezing and pinching your chest and harden nubs causes you to moan and groan, your body heating up as it gets used to the uncomfortable and unusual position. Crowley’s real hands rub up and down your thighs comfortingly, occasionally grabbing the globes of your arse and squeezing them, as if to let you know you can stop at any time. For some reason, the attention to care makes you hotter and makes you desire this more. Hormones giving you courage, you slowly start to take control of your hips and grind down against his tongue. His eyes flash once more and the movement of his fingers grow harder, the ones inside of you finding and stroking your g-spots with ease, the buzzing increasing until it is almost unbearable. The heat in your belly seems to expand and causes your muscles to tighten in preparation. You attempt to remove yourself from his mouth, the whole idea of cumming on his face just making this whole scenario more real, more dirty, and you know that his voice would return if you did. Crowley’s hands, however, refuse to leave your thighs, keeping you firmly against his face. Everything seems to be working at double time, as if he knows your fears. His hands continue to comfort as little as they can as you lose control of your hips, bucking up against him before grinding down against his tongue.

Your body tenses as you allow yourself to get washed away in the heated sensation of your pre-orgasmic bliss, ignoring the background noise of your grunts and moans, Crowley’s lapping and thrusting tongue. He pulls back quickly to breathe hot and heavy against you before diving back in, his ministrations now pulling you closer and closer to that edge. With one final rotation of your hips, you feel your walls spasm against Crowley’s tongue as he eagerly drinks up your orgasm, the ghost fingers still working you through until your thighs give up and you sink your entire weight onto you demonic boyfriend.

Groaning as he laps at the final part of your orgasm before moving you from his mouth to his now-bare chest, having magicked his clothes away some time ago. You whimper as his fingers leave the back of your thighs to between them, his fingers replacing the ghost ones, stroking and thrusting into your wet heat with one hand as he pinches and rolls your clit with the other. “You okay, pet?” His words come out gently, pulling you down to the present, his lips shinning with your juices.

You roll your hips against his hand as the heat dies down slightly, nodding to answer his question. “Thanks Crowley.” You murmur as he licks the final evidence of your ‘sinful’ acts away from his mouth and fingers.

“Pleasure, luv.” He grins wickedly as he grabs your hips again. “Think you could do it again? Only this time, a little lower?” He points his look towards his crotch, where his cock looks boardline-painfully hard, weeping out bead after bead of pre-come.

With a grin, you shimmy down a little, until you rest just below his ribcage. “Here?”

“Hmmm….a little lower.” He grins, grabbing your breast as you move down slightly, squeezing it gently.

“Here?” You’ve barely moved an inch, and you can feel his hardness pressing between the cheeks of your rear. He raises his eyebrow, unamused as he pulls gently at your tit.

“Didn’t your mother tell you that teasing is mean?” His other hand grabs your upper arm and pulls you in for a kiss. Tasting yourself as you allow his tongue entrance, you groan as he glides the tip of the well-trained muscle along the roof of your mouth. Pulling back, he whispers against your lips ‘lower’.

You shimmy yourself until your arse is pressed against the top of his pelvis, his cock between your thighs. With a grin, you shake a little. “Here?” With a growl, Crowley picks you up and positions you until his tip is just inside of you, stretching you slightly.

“You are playing a very dangerous game, poppet.” He growls. You shudder, still holding yourself up so no more of him slides into you, your nerves finally catching up with you. “C’mon, luv,” he encourages as he notices the worry in your eyes, “just a little lower.”

Swallowing back your fears, you lower yourself slightly onto his length, groaning at how this new position makes you feel. Empowered, dominant, not slutty or dirty like he had said. You halt when those comments base your mind. What was wrong with you? You were about to ride one of the most powerful beings in this universe, why should you feel anything else but weak? “Do you need to use the safeword?” His calming accent makes you lock your eyes onto his. “It’s alright to feel powerful from time to time, luv,” he whispers, as if reading your thoughts, “I am more than comfortable letting you take the wheel. C’mon, darling.” He pulls himself up to whisper into your ear. “Ride the Devil.” You smirk as he bites and tugs down on your ear.

Confidence drowning the nightmares, you slowly lower yourself the entire way down his long, hard length until you’re pressing against his thighs. His hands make their way to your hips as you settle, getting used to the new sensations along with his size. You clench your walls around him as a warning as you brace yourself, rolling your hips gently against him, causing you both to gasp. Your head moves to nuzzle against the crook of his neck as you continue to roll your hips, sliding up and down him gently, picking the pace slowly. He doesn’t rush you, knowing that this position is difficult enough as it is, instead he whispers into your ear how well you’re doing, how much he loves you, how brave you are. Your courage slowly starts to build as you move faster along his length, keening when you accidently hit your g-spot. Crowley thrusts up with you in an attempt to hit it again, his fingers moving down to play with your swollen bundle of nerves.

Groaning at the sensation, you clamp down on Crowley’s cock in response, causing him to moan into your ear, his breathing hot and heavy on your neck. The heat that had never really left starts to build up again. You try to tamp down your body’s responses, not wanting to end this before Crowley, but your legs tremble, not from exhaustion, but from bliss. Crowley grins against your skin as he grinds his hips up in time with yours, causing his cock to hit all the right places. Still not settled from your last orgasm, it isn’t long until you are thrown over the edge once more, screaming out your lover’s name as your walls squeeze against him tightly. Two grunts and a moan later, you feel warmth enter your channel as Crowley slowly pulls out.

Sighing, Crowley moves you to the side, pulling you in as the little spoon as he moulds himself against you. “I am so proud of you, pet.” He whispers into your ear, pride and satisfaction evident in his voice. “So proud, especially since you didn’t back down.”

“I’m a hunter.” You retort with a small smile, also proud that you have danced with your past and didn’t let it take over your dance floor. “We never back down.” You yawn sleepily as the hot, South Australian sun bleeds through slightly opened curtains. A click of Crowley’s fingers, and it is dark, causing you to smile as you snuggle against him, already half of the your way to snoring.

“Of course you do luv,” Crowley smiles down at you, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead, “of course you do.”


End file.
